


Hermione Granger and the Year Things Changed

by Angy2015



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:37:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angy2015/pseuds/Angy2015
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow Hermione and Draco through their first few years at Hogwarts in the lead up to Voldemort's return to life and power. A story of family, friendship, love, and growing up in a world where violent prejudices and expectations dictate the lives of children. (Year 1 complete)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fresh Start

“Have you three seen a toad?” A small, bushy-haired girl asked, peeking her head into yet another compartment. She met a boy named Neville a few minutes before and had taken pity on him in his frantic search for his lost pet, Trevor. It was beyond the little witch why anyone would choose a toad for a pet. If her parents had allowed her a familiar, she would have picked an owl or a cat. Owls were incredibly useful for carrying mail, and cats were, simply put, wonderful.

“Did you lose one? Good riddance…who’d want a toad for a pet?”

Hermione snickered at the blond boy with the gelled back hair as he voiced her thoughts. “A boy named Neville Longbottom told me he had lost one. I don’t know anyone yet, so I thought I’d help him look for it,” she said, giving away more than she’d intended. She composed her expression immediately, thrusting back the walls she’d learned to build at school and with her relatives.

“Hermione, you’re a freak. You’re unnatural; you shouldn’t exist,” her oldest cousin had snarled at her after she had shown her how she could make her toys come to life. “You’re a freak,” constantly echoes in her head. 

The kids in her Muggle school had been told by their parents to befriend her, hoping to become connected with her parents and family. She had been invited to every birthday party and every playdate that was held, but everything changed on her eighth birthday. Two girls, the two she considered her best friends, were talking about how insufferable they found her. They said they wished that their parents would stop forcing them to be friends; they called her a buck-toothed freak, among other foul things. 

Typically, she had excellent control over her magic, but this was a special case. In this particular instance, when she decided she’d heard enough and stormed in, demanding to know what they were talking about, she slipped up. Both girls found themselves coated with particularly large boils, and with buckteeth of their own. The girls had screamed, running to their parents in the sitting room. She would have liked to have felt satisfaction, and on some level she had, but it was a shallow victory. It meant she was even more lonely than before, without even the pretence of having friends.

She had met two other boys on her search for the toad. Their whole compartment was filled with sweets and discarded wrappers, and her lip curled in disgust as she remembered the scene. The redheaded boy seemed so skeptical when he first laid eyes on her. In that moment, her fear of always being seen as a freak was rekindled. She would have to work hard, in order to prove them wrong. She would show them she belonged in the magical world just as much as they did.

“Sit with us?” The boy who’d spoken earlier shot her a grin when he saw her momentary revulsion directed at the pet.  
She returned his smile hesitantly, then stepped further into the compartment, taking the closest seat by the door. She glanced at the other two boys, both too enraptured with their sweets to notice her. Hermione felt something like a smirk start to form on her lips as she caught the blonde boy’s eye. They noticed their identical expressions and broke out into grins again.

“We’re out. Want anything?” one of the dark haired, burly eleven-year-olds asked as he stood up, after emptying the last of what Hermione thought might be jelly beans. He took her off guard when he looked at her as well as their friend. She smiled and shook her head, appreciating the gesture.

“Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, a couple of chocolate frogs, and some sugar quills,” the boy called out, and the other boy nodded, quickly walking out of the compartment in his haste for more candy. 

Hermione gazed curiously at the blonde when she saw how he ordered the other boy around. He noticed her look.

He shrugged, trying to appear the picture of nonchalance. “We’re not friends, their parents are forcing them to suck up to me. They get happy mums and dads, and I get bodyguards and free stuff.” He raised his eyebrows, daring her to tell him he was being selfish. To his surprise she let out a cackle, tossing her head back in mirth.

“I wish I’d been cunning enough to do that, it didn’t even cross my mind. Instead, my schoolmates broke out in boils when I found out they were being ordered to be my friends. They left my house screaming and never came back—It was nice to see their parents conflicted between how badly they wanted my parents, and how little they wanted their kids to interact with me.” 

She was still laughing, and after her reaction, the other boy visibly relaxed and laughed along with her. He was looking at her curiously, though, it seemed strange that anyone would hold her responsible for an outburst of magic before she had even attended Hogwarts.

A thought was starting to form in his head, and he desperately hoped he was wrong. “Your parents are Muggles, aren’t they?”

Hermione stiffened a little at the question; she didn’t hear any accusation or maliciousness in his tone, but she saw the tell-tale mask on his face she’d had to wear so many times before, and she knew he was hiding his emotions. She closed her eyes, hoping beyond hope her answer wouldn’t result in the same maliciousness she’d been given by her family, excluding, typically, her parents, for being a witch.

“Yes, they are. Is that a problem?” She had meant it to sound confident, but she could hear her voice shrinking with every word.

“It depends…it’s just my father and the some of the other Slytherins…” He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her as he tried to finish the sentence. 

Already prepared for the worst, after experiencing her cousin’s reaction to her being a witch, Hermione found herself rather unfazed by his reply. It was clear he didn’t share the sentiments, and that did count for something.

“You already know you’ll be in Slytherin?” She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. From what she’d read, the sorting didn’t happen until they reached Hogwarts.

“Yeah, pretty much. My whole family was Slytherin’s.” He shrugged, still not meeting her eye. 

Hermione bit her lip. She’d read about the first wizarding war and imagined prejudices. Drawing on her aunt and uncle, she was able to come up with a pretty good picture of how his parents would react if he became friends with her.

“When we get to Hogwarts I know your little cronies will report back to their parents about me, but let's be friends until then. I’m Hermione,” she introduced. It was the same everywhere, she thought sadly, as she reached out her hand to him. He looked back at her, finally, and accepted her offered hand.

“Draco.” He still looked a little conflicted, but smiled at her, nonetheless, when he introduced himself. There was a war being waged in his head; he knew it would be the best if they stopped being friends the second they stepped off the train, but another side of him wanted to be friends with her anyway. He’d never had a real friend- he had people he spent time with and enjoyed the company of, but there was always underlying family politics dictating things.

“If we didn’t make a show of it to the Slytherins…maybe we could be friends at Hogwarts, too?” He worried about her taking what he said the wrong way. He wasn’t ashamed to be friends with her, but he also didn’t want to be murdered in his sleep.

“It might be nice to have a friend in spite of public opinion,” she acknowledged quietly, once again surprising him.

“I don’t want you to think I’m ashamed of being friends with a Muggle-born…it’s just my parents were very specific about how I needed to act,” he replied, just as quietly. 

She didn’t press him to figure out what he meant by that, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. In some cases, not knowing was perfectly alright. 

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked her, already sure she could. “My Aunt Andy married a Muggle-born, Uncle Ted. Mum, father, and I visit them. I like my cousin, she’s really funny. She’s a metamorphmagus.” 

“Why is that a secret?” Hermione asked, perplexed.

“Aunt Andy was disowned when her family found out about the engagement. My father was supposed to marry her, but then the engagement passed to my mother. They’re happy, but there’s a lot more to it, I think. I don’t quite understand, actually. Clearly neither of them hate Muggles, but they’re scared of something that could happen if people found out.” 

It sounded a little archaic to Hermione, although she knew her cousins were likely to be given a small pool of preferred suitors to choose from. She was thankful once again that she’d been born to her parents, who liked their work and typically avoided making a show of the family money. 

“You sounded like you might have had the Muggle equivalent of my life,” he mused.

“My parents are dentists…they attend to people’s teeth. The rest of the family strongly disapproves, thinking that my father would have done better in business or politics, and that my mother shouldn’t work. Although, they haven’t been disowned. Unfortunately, that means we still have to attend every kind of party and social gathering imaginable. Thank goodness I’ve been saved by coming to Hogwarts before I was old enough to be dragged to all of them, one or two a month was already more than I could stomach.”

“I was right. Definitely the muggle equivalent,” Draco said, cringing in sympathy at the thought of the parties his mother hosted at the Manor. 

They heard the door rattle before the boys, who had gone hunting for the trolley, made their way back to their seats, their arms overflowing with candy. 

“Honestly, you two are as bad as the red-haired boy I talked to before coming here. Ronald Weasel?” she questioned, unsure about the name.

“Weasley,” Draco corrected. “I like the nickname, though. Weasel...It suits him.” He snorted, backed by the two snickering boys, “And the whole family are poor as dirt; he couldn’t possibly have bought that much from the trolley.”

“Just telling you what I saw. He was with Harry Potter, so maybe he’s the one who paid,” Hermione said airily, pulling out and opening Hogwarts: A History from her bag to read more about the Houses they would be sorted into. “I think I want to be in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor.”

“Why Gryffindor?” Draco asked with a sneer, looking up from his chocolate frog card.

“Well, I know I’m not especially brave, but it would be nice to think I could be,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you really want to be in Slytherin?”  
“Of course!” He smirked at her, but she noticed his eyes flick to the other two buffoons in their compartment and wondered briefly if his answer would have been different if they weren’t there. She just shrugged, not knowing how to pursue the subject further. 

They talked for the next few hours, careful to stay away from any dangerous subjects, but otherwise mostly ignoring the other boys in the compartment. When it was time to change into their robes, Hermione had already grown rather attached to her new friend and found herself feeling a twinge of disappointment that they were going to have to part ways soon.

Back in the compartment, as the train slowed to a stop, she put her books back into her bag. They’d spent the last hour going over some of the material they were going to learn. Draco found himself astounded by how well she already performed the spells.

“You’re going to be the best witch Hogwarts has ever seen. My cousin says you can choose to be brave, so ask the hat to put you in Gryffindor.” He spoke quietly, making sure the other two couldn’t overhear. 

He wasn’t sure why he said it, he hated the idea of her being in that House, because it would make their friendship even more difficult, and he wasn’t even sure he believed what Dora had said- not completely. But when Hermione beamed at him, he decided it had been worth encouraging her, despite his misgivings.

They felt the train halt completely, and students started pouring out of their compartments. Hermione smiled at Draco one more time before she left, deciding she would look for the boy, Neville, and see if he’d found his pet. Stepping out of the train, she took in what would be her new home with wide, amazed eyes. The castle stood proudly across the lake, grander than anything Hermione could have pictured. It shone eerily in the moonlight, and she felt her excitement for school redouble.

A massive man stepped forward, waving his arms towards the first years and calling them towards the boats lined up along the lake shore. They followed him in a haze of nervous excitement, and Draco caught Hermione’s eye after they spotted the giant man, both finding themselves rather intimidated by his size and scruffy exterior. 

Still warily looking at the half giant, they made their way in the direction they were told to go. Hermione found herself sharing a boat with Neville, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter. The latter two looked annoyed that they had to share a boat with the know-it-all girl, causing her to huff and roll her eyes in contempt. They didn’t even know her, and already they were rude.

“Trevor!” Neville called out when he saw his toad on the steps before them. It was all Hermione could do not to laugh as he scampered forward to collect the hideous animal. He looked up at Professor McGonagall sheepishly when he realized he’d interrupted her during her speech. The professor bristled at the interruption, then finished her speech with a steady look in Neville’s direction. 

When they were guided into the Great Hall to be sorted, she heard some of the students talking about the ceiling. Did they not read?

“It's not real, the ceiling. It's just bewitched to look like the night sky. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History,” she informed them rather condescendingly. The Headmaster spoke a few words, and she closed her eyes, nervous about the sorting. She overheard Draco introducing himself to Harry, and from the introduction, it was clearly forced by his father. Harry hadn’t been brought up the way they had—befriending the Malfoy boy wasn’t demanded, and his response to the offered alliance was a very thorough refusal. 

Draco seemed a little offended, but otherwise unfazed. He shrugged when she looked at him, obviously thinking the Potter boy would come around later, which she doubted considering his words. Hermione smiled to herself a little and shook her head at the politics forced on them as 11-year-olds. It seemed ridiculous, but she’d watched it happen for most of her life.

The sorting had finally started. Professor McGonagall called students forward to sit on a small wooden bench, placing the scruffy, black hat on their heads one at a time. Everyone looked nervous as they sat, waiting for it to call out a House name and seal their fate for the next seven years.

“Granger, Hermione,” she eventually heard.

“Oh, no. Okay, relax,” she spoke out loud, trying to calm herself. She walked forward, faltering when she heard Ronald whisper to Harry.

“Mental that one, I'm telling you.” She looked back briefly and saw Draco glare angrily at the redhead. A little appeased, she made her way to the stool a little more bravely, and when the hat was placed on her head, she made every effort to think Gryffindor. I want to be in Gryffindor.

“Are you sure, Ms. Granger? You have a great mind; you would excel in Ravenclaw,” The Sorting Hat told her.

A little put off by the semi-sentient hat on her head, she formulated her thoughts to answer its question. “I want to be brave. I want to choose to be brave, I know I’m smart, but I want to prove that I can be in Gryffindor,” she tried to communicate to it.

“But Ravenclaw is a perfect match for you, girl.” 

Trying a different approach, she pulled the memory of her conversation with Draco to the front of her thoughts, begging the Hat to listen to her. The Hat continued to pester her with how she belonged in Ravenclaw, and she continued to reject its attempts at sorting her there. Much to her annoyance, it seemed amused by her struggle.

After several more minutes, the Hat finally yielded. “Ambitious, determined little thing aren’t you? Despite your blood status, Slytherin might have been the best option for you. But fret not, I’ve heard you. Better be GRYFFINDOR!” The Hat exclaimed, roaring the last word out for the Hall to hear.


	2. Adjusting to Hogwarts

She jumped up and practically skipped to her new table, where her housemates were clapping while Draco was caught between being happy for her sake, and mournful for his own. They both watched the rest of the ceremony. It was a little disappointing when Draco was sorted into Slytherin, although it had been expected from the start, and Hermione was annoyed when the red-haired boy was sorted into Gryffindor. She'd hoped the rude ginger would be sorted somewhere else. 

After a few strange words, given by the Headmaster, and a stunning feast, in which she discovered a particular love for pumpkin juice, the Gryffindor prefects, Percy Weasley and a girl named Irma Thomas, led them to their common rooms and dorms.

‘Caput Draconis' was the password given to the Fat Lady in the portrait, an odd sort of password in her opinion, but the portrait swung open to reveal a circular room with everything they could possibly want for comfort. A fire was burning in a large fireplace to one side of the room, which gave it a warm, cozy feeling, and the plush armchairs looked like delightful places to curl up and read a book. Hermione grinned as she walked in, more than a little impressed. 

The castle felt like a constant discovery. On their walk over, they passed several portraits who spoke to them—that and the ghosts were a little difficult to swallow. Although she'd known to expect them from various magical texts. The common room had been another pleasant surprise, and Hermione was eager to see their dorm rooms. Despite her curiosity to see where she would be sleeping, she was nervous about going in, wary of whoever would be sharing the room with her. 

She'd had rather horrible experiences with boys and girls alike, in her old school, but the girls had been particularly nasty. She found she had more difficulty relating to them, because she just didn't understand why they cared so much about music, fashion, boys, and television—her parents didn't let her watch or listen to what most of the other kids cared to listen and watch, which quickly crossed those off as a points of common interest. 

As far as fashion and boys went, she just didn't understand why those topics were appealing to girls her age. It wasn't as if those topics were the only ones girls were interested in; she knew first-hand many who had other interests, but somehow whenever people got into a group, the conversation steered in that direction.

Stepping into the room, she already felt tense, panic creeping through her as she saw three other girls standing together, giggling. A wave of nausea hit her as she waited for them to tear her apart. They didn’t seem to notice her until she cleared her throat, hesitantly asking if they knew which bed was hers so she could get settled. They pointed to the one her trunk was next to, and she quickly walked over to it, sitting down and closing the curtains around her. She didn't want to give them a chance to mock her and making a quick exit seemed like the best way to avoid their inevitable cruelty. 

Eventually, over the next month, she came to a sort of truce with most of her housemates, even if they weren't anything near friends. She gained enough house points that they saw her as someone useful to have around, even if they also thought she was insufferable. 

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who she shared a dorm with, however, were particularly difficult to come to terms with. She found them particularly obnoxious and difficult to ignore. They mocked her hair, which she already knew to be a disaster, and prattled on about a new boy every week as though any of them would give them the time of day. 

In turn, they had no idea how to relate to Hermione, who rolled her eyes at their antics and steered clear of any part of their discussions. They mutually found each other annoying, but the hostility was borderline friendly.

The redhead, Ronald, and his friend, Harry, were inseparable. It was too bad because Harry was decent enough on his own. It was Ronald who rolled his eyes every time she gave an answer in class, making snide comments to the other boys sitting near him. Draco comforted her, saying that it was only because he was too stupid to answer anything himself, a statement she wholeheartedly agreed with. Very few people studied in the library, so they spent a good amount of time together there, and sometimes hesitantly ventured elsewhere to explore the castle.

They had an easy friendship between them, having absolutely nothing to prove to each other when they were alone. They both had felt lonely before coming to Hogwarts, for similar reasons- the only people who wanted to be friends with them were those ordered by their parents. 

Since arriving at Hogwarts, things had been a little different. They'd found each other, and Hermione was no longer a celebrity among her peers because of her name. Draco was a little envious of her; the entirety of the Slytherin house was trying to suck up to him, effectively ruining any chance of forming real friendships before they'd even began. Despite this, Hermione, his best friend, was enough, and ordering people around wasn't something he was entirely opposed to.

"Draco, can you teach me to fly? I'm absolutely rubbish at it and since I dropped Flying yesterday…well, it would be nice to get better, just without everyone laughing." 

He grinned at her, looking forward to it. After dropping Flying, she was certain she'd taken the coward's way out. She decided if she was going to live up to the expectations on her House, she had to be brave and face her fear of flying, even if it was in semi-private.

"We'll have to use the school brooms, even if they are a menace. I don't know how Potter convinced them to bend the rules for him," Draco grumbled. 

Hermione smiled at him, she knew he was jealous that Harry had made the Quidditch Team already. It didn't help that he'd been directly responsible for the events leading up to it because of a half baked attempt at showing off.

"That's alright. You're a good enough flyer that it won't matter," she reassured him. 

His chest puffed out at the compliment, a little less bitter towards the boy-who-lived. 

"Although, why you had to torment poor Neville is beyond me," she couldn't help but add with a frown.

"Yeah, not my finest moment. I should have left the fat lump alone," he acknowledged grudgingly, and she let it go, knowing that was the best she would get from him, "Meet me by the quidditch pitch after supper?" 

Hermione nodded. "I'll see you then!" She headed out of the library to bring her books back to her room before going to supper.

They met up, as decided, by the Quidditch Pitch, and went to find Madam Hooch together to borrow school brooms. Throughout the first couple of months, it became a routine for them to study together before dinner, then meet up to fly after supper for a few hours. 

Hermione was struggling to learn, it was one of the only things she'd had difficulty with since being at Hogwarts. She wasn't afraid of heights, but the broomsticks terrified her, so they took things slowly, starting by flying low to the ground. It was a particularly gruelling week for Draco as he felt his patience with the girl wearing thin, and in a fit of desperation, he dragged her to the library, stacking three books on broomsticks in front of her. Surprisingly enough, it did the trick. 

Knowing how they came about, and what type of enchantments held her in the air, gave her quite a bit more confidence that she wouldn't suddenly fall out of the air. Things picked up after that, and they went faster and higher, testing the limits of the battered school brooms. After about a month of consistent, daily practice, she had come to love the feeling of being in the air, and particularly liked flying across the Great Lake or over the Forbidden Forest, where you could get a stunning view. 

She still wasn't an excellent flyer, by any means, but she was proficient for a first year-certainly not as bad as Neville. They found a clearing further into the forest where they started studying occasionally, when the weather was nice. She justified it to herself, saying they weren't actually in the forest, only flying over it, rather than sitting in the clearing- technically not breaking school rules. When Quidditch started becoming more intense, they found they had to sneak around more so as not to be caught together by their housemates, who were frequently at the pitch for practice. It was unfortunate, but they managed. 

One night, they bundled up in extra layers, since autumn had seemed to settle in the week before, and they worked on finishing up an essay for potions. The leaves on the trees around their clearing had mostly all fallen, giving it a cold sort of beauty that they both rather liked.

"What broom are you going to buy next year? When we can finally stop using these pieces of rubbish?" Hermione asked, looking skeptically at the tattered broom next to her.

"I want a Nimbus, they'll be releasing the Nimbus 2001 next year. You?" Draco replied instantly, having clearly already made up his mind.

"I want an Australian Flyabout," she said, grinning at the thought, but knowing her parents would never agree. It was the broom that the Australian Quidditch Team, her favourite team, flew, and she would allow herself a daydream or two about it. It didn't really matter that she was nowhere near good enough a flyer to need it, but it would be wonderful to fly regardless, even if she couldn't use it to its full potential. 

"In all honesty, though, I'll probably just buy a Comet or a Cleansweep." Privately she wondered if she'd still be forced to still use the school's; her parents weren't likely to approve of her wanting a broom.

"A Cleansweep? Are you out of your mind? You might as well keep using the school brooms." He scoffed, but when she raised her eyebrows at him he amended, "Well, maybe it is a step…or ten steps up, but if you're going to buy a broom at least buy a decent one." He crinkled his nose in disgust at the thought of buying either of the brooms she'd suggested.

Hermione nodded, knowing she did really did want something better than a Cleansweep, even if she couldn't get one. "Trade?" she held out her essay to him and gestured to his. They proofread each other's work.

"It's good." He handed it back to her after correcting a few spelling and grammar mistakes.

"Not that it matters- Professor Snape has it out for me. I could hand in a seventh year's homework and I would barely get above an Acceptable," she muttered bitterly, casting a glare at the essay as though it was its fault. 

He laughed, knowing she was right. "He'll be forced to admit you're brilliant one day," Draco said sincerely, causing her to blush.

"The same day he washes his hair," she retorted, smiling crookedly. 

They chuckled together at the Professor's expense while they packed their things regretfully. It had gotten late and was time to head back to the castle before curfew. They flew back slowly, not in any particular hurry to arrive at their destination. When they landed on the Quidditch Pitch, they  
stepped off their brooms in unison and walked towards Madam Hooch's office to return the brooms. Rounding the corner, they found themselves face to face with a dark-haired, pug-faced girl.

"Draco, what are you doing with her? Associating with Mudbloods, huh? Have you really sunk that low?" 

Both Hermione and Draco pulled their faces into masks of indifference.

"You think we're friends? And I thought Slytherins were supposed to be cunning. Now get out of my way, both of you before I hex you! Leave me alone!" Hermione spoke up, hoping it was believable for both their sakes. 

She wanted to stay friends with Draco, and if rumours got around, she knew it wouldn't work. He had never confided in her about why his parents needed to keep up appearances, and for that reason, she knew it was more than for a couple extra invitation to pure-blood parties.

"Friends? Have you gone mad, Pansy? This one's rubbish with a broom, so I thought I'd harass her when she left the castle on one. Let's go back to the common room."

Hermione winced at how cold he sounded, despite knowing it was an act. She watched a little sadly when he left with the other girl. He'd dropped his broom, clearly hoping she would return it. She rolled her eyes debating on if she should pick it up or not because part of her wanted to leave it and let him get detention for it, but she didn't want Madam Hooch to think less of them.

By the time she got back to her dorm room, she was in a foul mood. Throwing herself on her bed she cried.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" Lavender came into the room looking like a cat that had cornered a rather large mouse.

"Nothing, Lavender. Please just leave me alone." 

Unfortunately, an owl flew into the room with a note for her. Eager for new gossip, Lavender lunged at it, unclasping it from the owl before Hermione had a chance to look at it.

Hermione.

Pansy is really suspicious... We probably can't meet for a while. I miss you already, and sorry about the broom.

Draco

Lavender's eyes bulged upon seeing the note, and Hermione snatched it out of her hand. After she read it, she threw it in the small fireplace that occupied their room. 

Hermione grabbed the girl hard by the arm. "No one can know about this. Do you understand?" 

Lavender nodded slowly, letting what she read settle in her mind. "Yes. I won't mention it." 

Lavender stumbled back when she let go, and Hermione turned away. She sat back down on her bed, pulling out some parchment and a quill.

How thick are you? Signing the note? L. grabbed the note from your owl before I could get to it. I asked her not to tell, but I'm not sure she's capable of keeping her mouth shut. I understand, but I'll miss you too.

She tied the note to Draco's owl, sending him on his way before any of the other girls could come in and see him. "What. An. Idiot," she muttered under her breath. Under normal circumstances, she would have enjoyed his apology, since she knew it had probably nearly killed him to write it, but for now, she was far too concerned with Lavender.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I know you don't think I can, but I'll keep this a secret,” Lavender promised, looking properly ashamed.

"Thanks, Lav," Hermione replied, smiling at the girl before going back to her bed to write to her parents. "Please. It would be really bad if people found out," she said again, hoping to impress on the gossipy girl how desperately this needed to stay a secret.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I think I finally made peace with one of my dorm mates, although I'll find out for sure over the next few weeks.

I talked about my best friend, the boy I met on the train before. We took a picture together today at the spot we've been flying to, to study, I thought you might want to see it.

School itself is good, the classes are wonderful, especially Charms. The potions master is awful, though, he's Draco's godfather and even when Draco and I have virtually identical essays, he gets an outstanding while I get an Acceptable or an Exceeds Expectations (on a good day). It's absurd, but he seems to hate everyone who isn't in Slytherin.

All my love,

Hermione xxx

She examined the sloppy letter as she tucked it into an envelope with the picture of her and Draco laughing at the base of their tree, both trying to fit into the frame as they held the camera at arm's length. She wanted to explain the blood thing to them in person over Christmas, so until then she would say everything was alright. For now, she just wanted to talk to her parents; she missed them so much she ached.

After sealing the envelope, she made her way to the Owlery to borrow one of the owls. Walking down the hallway, her feet guided her without thought. She couldn't help but feel like their friendship with Draco was doomed when she thought about Pansy.

"Draco, look, it's Mudblood Granger," Theodore Nott shouted gleefully as he approached her.

Hermione closed her eyes, clasping the letter tighter in her trembling hand.

"Yeah, well, let's go before we catch some sort of disease from breathing the same air as her," Draco drawled, hoping Theo would drop it and leave.

"Nah, I feel like tormenting a Mudblood. Oh, look! Is that a letter for mummy and daddy? Ooh I didn't know Muggles could read." 

Hermione pulled the letter away from him, trying to reach for her wand with her other hand, but quickly realizing she had left it on her bed. Unusually tall for an eleven year old boy, Nott reached around her easily and grabbed the letter. Draco was frozen on the spot, not knowing what would be worse- if Nott read the letter, or if he interfered.

"Nott, I said I wanted to leave. Let her have her stupid letter and let's go back to the common room," Draco tried to sound bored, but his heart was pounding.

"Nah, I told you, I want to read whatever primitive language this filth communicates in," Nott drawled, ripping open the top. His wand was still lazily pointed in Hermione's direction.

"Nott, I said let’s go…" Draco started again a little more forcefully, reaching for the letter.

"Mr. Nott, Mr. Malfoy, you will drop that letter immediately," Professor McGonagall called out as she rounded the corner. 

Hermione let out a sigh of relief as she snatched it out of his hands. She noticed Draco visibly relax, as well. "Thirty points from Slytherin, each, and I will see you in my office for detention for the next three Saturdays. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor." 

McGonagall was taken aback by how easily the Malfoy boy acquiesced to accept his punishment, looking almost grateful. They took off rather quickly to the dungeons after it was issued.

"Ms. Granger, are you alright?" the Professor asked carefully, noticing the girl looked rather shaken.

"It's just…my letter. It's private."

"Perhaps it would help if I sent it off? I can fix the envelope as well." 

Relief washed over Hermione as she happily passed the letter to her professor. It wasn't that her note contained anything specifically bad, but the picture was damning enough on its own.

"Thank you…so much, Professor." 

They parted ways only after McGonagall escorted her back to the tower and had given her a stern warning never to be caught without a wand. It was stupid, she knew, to have left it behind. Even to have gone on her own to the Owlery, since it wasn't the first time she'd been cornered. She was lucky, that it had been Draco and Nott and not some of the older Slytherins, even some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who seemed ready to attack students when they were on their own over blood issues. 

Though lucky was a word that sat poorly with her. She shouldn't even be in a situation where it was lucky to be attacked by one set of students rather than another. At least, if things got ugly, Draco would have been on her side. 

She sighed, thankful once again to have been sorted into Gryffindor, infamously the house of blood-traitors. No one here bothered her about her blood status, regardless of personal feelings. To do so would be to put themselves at odds with the majority of their Housemates—not something many were willing to do, for all their supposed bravery.

After returning to her own chambers, Minerva pulled the letter out of her robes. Before she could fix the envelope, a picture slipped out, landing quietly at her feet. She frowned, bending over to pick it up. When she turned it over and saw the two children in the frame, her eyes grew wide. She stared at the little blond boy laughing easily next to a bushy haired brunette, their arms around each other. A small smile settled on her face upon learning that the Malfoy boy had, by some miracle, been able to escape his family's prejudice. She tucked the picture back into the envelope carefully, then sealed it, and sent it away with her own owl. She went to sleep that night with more hope for the future than she'd had when she'd woken up.


	3. New Allies

Hermione snapped at Ronald. She couldn’t take it, not anymore. With the tenth jab of his wand towards the unfortunate feather on the desk before them, she lost it. The third, fourth, seventh, and ninth time, he brandished his wand stupidly and had nearly taken out her eye; the second and eighth time nearly snapped it in two. 

He was a menace! It was difficult not to be condescending when she explained the proper technique and proper pronunciation, but it was impossible to treat him like anything more than an idiot.

“You do it then if you're so clever. Go on, go on.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. She had mastered the spell over the summer right after getting her wand and had used it countless times since then. It was dead useful, not to mention entertaining. How people hadn’t gone through their texts to learn as much as they could was completely baffling. They were, after all, studying magic.

“Wingardium Leviosa.” 

Her wand waved in a prescribed manner- a swish and flick- and as she knew it would, the feather floated delicately off of her desk. Of course, this only earned her a fierce glare and dark, angry muttering about being a know-it-all from Ronald.

Hermione smiled smugly at him as the professor praised her and awarded points for her success. Her lip then curled in disgust at how he was sulking, refusing to even try and do the assignment anymore. Across the room, Draco caught her eye. Raising his eyebrows, he tilted his head towards the boy next to her with a smirk causing a small laugh to escape from her mouth. 

It might have caused a few curious glances from the people seated close by, but just then, Seamus Finnegan, another incompetent Gryffindor boy, made his feather explode. Hermione stiffened in her seat. These people were going to kill them all with their idiocy. It wasn’t a difficult spell, so how could someone make their feather explode?! There wasn’t even a variation of the levitation spell she knew of that would cause so much as sparks. Nothing was more tempting for her in that moment then crying out in frustration. 

By the end of class, she found herself fighting the urge to rant about their classmates with Draco, like she usually would. It was a lonely walk across the courtyard alone, wishing, for what was one of the first times since her arrival, that she had other friends she could turn to. 

Busy wallowing in self-pity, she didn’t notice a group of boys until she overheard the insufferable, obnoxious, lazy, red-haired boy’s voice.

“It's Leviosa, not Leviosar. Honestly, she's a nightmare. No wonder she hasn't got any friends!” The group erupted into laughter.

Her blood ran cold. How dare they laugh at her? He would have stabbed her in the eye, broken his wand, or both if she hadn’t stopped him. 

Tears started to run down her face, and she pushed past the group before her humiliation was displayed any further. She ran straight for the girls bathroom, where she planned on locking herself up all evening to sulk, alone. Seeing people at supper that night was rather low on the list of things she wanted to do; suddenly she could understand Moaning Myrtle’s attachment to the girls lavatory much more clearly. 

A few hours later, her stomach grumbled and she decided to go find the kitchens and ask for food, Draco had shown her the entrance a couple of weeks ago after his mum told him where to find it. 

Hermione stood up, wiping her tear stained cheeks one more time. Looking in the mirror to make sure she wasn’t too much of a mess, she paused, holding her breath. Standing in the doorway was what looked like a mountain troll, a fully grown mountain troll. There wasn’t another exit. She was trapped, alone, too far from the Great Hall and completely unsure about what to do. 

“Help!” Hermione called out, taking cover in the furthest stall as the troll stomped closer. She cried out a few more times, hoping and praying someone would hear her and come.

She heard Harry and Ronald yelling something, and was thankful for the first time in her life, to be able to hear their voices. She jumped out of the way, moving under the sink as the troll easily smashed the remaining stalls with a light swing of his club. She couldn’t help but cry out as pieces of the stall landed around her. He heard, and was turning slowly towards the sinks where she was hiding.

“Hey, pea brain!” Ron called out. 

She watched in admiration, shock, and horror as a piece of wood he threw made contact with the troll’s head. Momentarily dazed, it paused before turning back towards Hermione. In that moment, Harry ran forward with his wand held out, grabbing hold of the club. 

Hermione screamed as he was flung onto the troll’s shoulders, slamming his wand into its nose. The cynical part of Hermione couldn’t help but judge that it was probably the most useful thing he could do with it, while her more good natured side admonished her for thinking it. It was rather hypocritical, considering her own was among the debris in the stall. 

Snorting angrily, the troll grabbed Harry’s leg and dangled him upside down while he raised his club in the other hand.

She heard Harry call out, begging for her or Ronald to do absolutely anything at all that might save him from getting smashed. Shaky with fear, their last hope raised his wand slowly. Miming the action of the spell they’d performed that day, she caught his eye, nodding encouragingly and hoping that luck would be on his side. She was sure that no part of what she’d said in class had stuck with him.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Ron called out, surprising all three of them when the club stayed static in the air, even after the troll’s arm came down. Levitating it further over the confused troll, Ron aligned the club over its head, dropping it either on purpose or from sheer exhaustion. 

Harry scrambled to his feet, quickly moving out of the mountain troll’s path as it loudly crashed to the floor, causing them all to wince in unison. The three of them approached it hesitantly. After a few moments, a huff of air from its mouth proved it was only knocked out- much to Hermione’s relief. Killing anything, even if it was a mountain troll, didn’t sit well with her.

Harry looked at it warily, pulling his wand out of its nose, and wiping the slime that covered it on his robes, properly disgusting Hermione. Both the slime and the fact that the boy was wiping it off on his clothes repulsed her thoroughly, and she hid a gag behind her hand.

As they stood around the troll, unsure what to should do next, they heard footsteps from outside the washroom and were glad to see McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell rushing through the door.

“Oh! Oh, my goodness! E-Explain yourselves, both of you!” Professor McGonagall pointed at the two boys, eyes wide in fear and confusion.

“Well, what happened, you see…” Ron started, desperately searching for a believable lie.

“It's my fault, Professor McGonagall.” She felt a twinge of irritation upon seeing the looks of shock on her classmates and professors.

“Ms. Granger?” Professor McGonagall looked at her questioningly.

“I went looking for the troll. I'd read about them and I thought I could handle it. But I was wrong. If Harry and Ron hadn't come and found me...I'd probably be dead.” 

She wasn’t quite sure she wanted to admit to crying in the lavatory for hours- it was embarrassing enough that half of Gryffindor probably already knew.

“Be that as it may...it was an extremely foolish thing to do. I would have expected more rational behaviour on your part, Ms. Granger. 5 points will be taken from Gryffindor for your serious lack of judgment.” McGonagall turned her stern eyes towards the boys. “ As for you two gentlemen, I just hope you realize how fortunate you are. Not many students could take on a full grown mountain troll and live to tell the tale. 5 points...will be awarded to each of you. For sheer dumb luck.” 

McGonagall was clearly torn between disapproval and admiration for the two boys as she turned away, though Snape’s own feelings were perfectly clear. 

When they walked back together, Hermione wasn’t sure how to deal with the fact that Ronald had helped save her life. It was hard to hate someone after they’d put themselves in danger for you, but that didn’t mean she actually liked him any better either.

“Goodnight, Harry, Ronald.”

“Goodnight, Hermione,” they replied in unison.

The rest of the semester went by in a lonely blur as she missed her friend, who was still being trailed by the insufferable Parkinson girl. After the troll incident, she became better acquainted with the two Gryffindor boys, and even became friends with Harry. 

Hostile confrontations happened less frequently when she was around the two boys, so the principle of safety in numbers led her to make peace with Ronald. While people were perfectly happy to attack a Muggle-born with no connections, they thought twice before doing so in front of the boy who’d infamously survived Voldemort’s own killing curse, typically settling instead for rude comments and threats when Harry and Ron weren’t paying attention. 

She wasn’t, however, lulled into a false sense of security by the relative peace she’d recently endured. Hermione kept her wand more accessible than before, and more carefully guarded in case she was ambushed. It was frustrating and scary to know that regardless of all the studying she did, she couldn’t hold a candle to most of her upper year tormentors in a duel.

Between the ghosts singing Christmas carols, and the festive decorations Dumbledore seemed to revel in having displayed throughout the castle, it was impossible to avoid thinking of the holiday. The growing excitement of the general student population manifested itself in a much lighter, cheerier atmosphere, and Hermione found herself caught up in it just like everyone else. 

She wanted to get a present for Draco, but couldn’t think of anything to buy for a boy whose parents gave him everything. It wasn’t until a letter came from her parents one day, in which they told her about the new computer they’d purchased and, of course, that they were unimpressed that her school didn’t have any, despite how new it was everywhere. Not to mention that they didn’t work around magic. 

Her slight annoyance with the condescending letter turned into triumph as she got an idea from it. Muggles had email—could send messages back and forth almost instantly, so what was to stop her from charming an object to do the same? After many hours in the library, she finally found a combination of spells which would constitute her present. She worked with growing desperation until the day before the Christmas holiday.

A terrible wave of disappointment washed over when she realized she could only cast about half of the twenty-three spells required. She’d known the task was far beyond her knowledge, but she had still entertained hope that sheer determination would allow her to complete it.

While she was in the library she knew Madam Pince kept a close watch on her, but during the walk between it and the tower, she was unsupervised and alone, so Christmas cheer be damned- it was scary. The tower and library were almost completely across the castle from each other, and hallways between were frequented by many members of all the Houses. 

Initially, she had hoped that members of her own House would protect her when it came down to it, but she soon found out that though many did, it wasn’t unheard of for a Gryffindor to turn a blind eye if it was a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff who was taunting her. Certainly if she were beautiful, popular, or both she’d have achieved some level of immunity, but bravery apparently wasn’t as important when it was only for a buck toothed know-it-all. The hypocrisy was outstanding. 

Staying on guard while expecting an attack at any moment, she listened carefully in case someone was approaching. When footsteps echoed behind her, she spun around, startled, and froze, like a deer caught in the headlights. Relief manifested itself in the form of a large smile when she saw it was only Professor McGonagall.

“Professor, I was wondering…no, it’s quite alright. Sorry to bother you.” She hadn’t intended to ask for help on her project, and hesitated to even after she started.

“Ms. Granger, now you have me curious, what were you wondering about?” The older woman was intrigued by whatever the young girl wanted to ask her.

“Well, I was trying to make a present for a friend, but some of the spells are rather advanced and I’ve only been able to manage about half the ones I need for it, and even some of those rather too poorly to be of any use,” she admitted reluctantly. 

More curious by what the girl was working on, McGonagall motioned for Hermione to follow her and they walked to her office. Despite the whispers on their way back of her being a teacher's pet, Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to care one bit. 

Once they were comfortably seated, she sheepishly pulled out the list of spells she wanted to use to charm the two leather bound books she’d purchased- via post, and handed it to her professor. Without even going down a quarter of the way through the list, the professor looked up at the little girl sitting across from her in shock.

“My dear girl, that you can perform any of these at all is astounding. Which can you do? I would love to see.” 

Hermione brightened, excited to show off what she’d learned in the past month. She adeptly performed a quarter of the list, and just managed a semblance of another quarter. 

“Might I see the objects you’re trying to charm? You could perform the spells you feel comfortable with, and I’ll complete the gift with the remainder.” 

She looked at her professor with unabashed adoration. Not only would she have Draco’s present ready after all, but she would also have a way to communicate with him during and after the holidays.

“Might I suggest a couple more spells? Although they aren’t technically Ministry sanctioned…they will suit your purpose better than many of the more complex privacy charms that you’ve listed.” 

Hermione smiled, nodding enthusiastically. “Of course, Professor!” she said brightly.

“The first is rather straightforward, though tricky to perform. If someone probes the books with magic, when the spells you placed on it to protect it are on the verge of becoming insufficient, the book will destroy itself before revealing its contents.” 

Hermione nodded, understanding both how that would be problematic to the Ministry, and useful for her project. 

“The second is a little bit less savory in practice, although incredibly useful. The spell is placed on the object, then after it is touched with blood the spell will be sealed and only that person will be able to read it.” 

Hermione cringed at the idea of needing blood but decided it was worth it and quickly agreed. The professor cast the spells after she had finished her portion, and to complete it, Hermione pricked her finger. A drop of blood fell sooner than she’d anticipated, sealing her to the emerald green book closest to her, which she’d been attempting to reach over. 

The professor chuckled, seeing her revulsion at being tied to the green book, and cast a quick healing spell at her hand before she found herself having bled on both.

“Happy Christmas, Miss Granger.” 

McGonagall had been a second from divulging that she knew the book was destined to be Draco Malfoy’s, but thought the better of it considering how she had discovered the information. She’d been hesitant about suggesting the last two spells, but really it was more dangerous for the two of them to continue a friendship if the spells weren’t cast. 

“To you too, Professor.” 

Hermione practically skipped out of her office, crossing the short distance back to the common room. She still needed to pack her trunk for the next day, and she did so while listening to Lavender rave about her newest love, Seamus Finnegan, to her and Pavarti. 

The train ride home was dull, but her spirits were significantly lifted when she was able to get an entire compartment to herself. The thought of seeing her parents in little over a couple hours left her feeling giddy, and the thought of home relaxed her. Their correspondence was regular, but it wasn’t the same as sitting together every night for a meal. Eventually, after trying and failing to sleep for the first half of the trip, she heard a familiar voice approaching the compartment.

“Pansy, will you leave me the hell alone? No, before you ask again, I do not want to visit you over the holidays. Has anything I’ve ever done given you the impression that I would?” 

Hermione stifled a giggle. She debated going out and trying to slip him her book, but decided against it— it was too risky. What if by some catastrophe, Pansy bled on it. She shuddered at the thought. It could wait a little while longer.

“But, Drakie, won’t you miss me?”

“No, I really won’t. I’ve been telling you to leave me the hell alone since school started!” 

Hermione was too angry at the girl for keeping her from her best friend, for the last two months, to feel any sort of pity as she started to wail. She heard Draco’s footsteps pass by her compartment, then stop and turn back towards it. He opened the door, and after looking down the corridor to make sure no one saw him, slipped inside, grinning at her. Hermione smiled back.

“Hermione, how have you—” Hermione put up her hand, while she pulled out the book.  
“Trust me?” He nodded. “Cut your finger.” He frowned.

“Why would I cut my finger?” he asked her, looking revolted at the idea. 

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Just trust me,” she said, annoyed. She wanted to give him the book as soon as possible before he was forced out of the compartment by some terrible stroke of luck. 

He shot her a look indicating how crazy he thought she was before finally obliging. She surprised him even more when she reached over to grab it and pressed the drop of blood pooling around the cut to the outside cover of the book.

“It’s bound to you now, no one else can read anything written in it.” 

He looked from the book, to her, questioningly, waiting for her to fully explain herself. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist. 

“I, well, Professor McGonagall helped a lot, but I bought two books, one for each of us. Anything I write in it will appear in yours, and vice versa. They’re bound to each of us by blood, so no one can read in yours except you.” She looked up at him sheepishly.

“You are brilliant, Hermione.” He shook his head at her, amazed that she’d been able to come up with the books. Even with McGonagall’s help, it was an impressive feat, and he was sure she’d worked to make as much of it as she could. 

He looked at the book. “Gryffindor red, though? Really?”

“I had a green one for you, but I bled on it by accident so you got stuck with that one. Call it vengeance for your stupid duel prank with Harry, nearly getting me eaten by a three-headed dog.” She pulled hers out to show him. “It’s your Christmas present, so don’t expect anything else from me!” 

“It’s his fault for being stupid enough to show up,” he laughed, seeing her shrug, not quite willing to admit she agreed. He seemed to finally process the second half of what she’d said, “Three-headed dog?” 

He was obviously trying to decide if it was a joke when they heard a noise from the hallway, “I should go before the pug stops crying and tracks me down again. Where are the dumb duo: Perfect Potter and the Weasel, now that you mention them?” he asked.

“They’re staying at Hogwarts over the break—I’ll fill you in soon.” She patted the journal next to her with a smile.

“I’ll talk to you in a couple minutes then.” He grinned, then peaked out of the compartment to check that the hall was empty, quickly closing the compartment door behind him. 

She listened to his footsteps fade away. Once he was gone, she picked up her book and began writing about everything that had happened since they last spoke. A few minutes later, she found herself pleasantly surprised by the interjections he was providing to her stories.


	4. Christmas with the Grangers

The train came to a screeching halt before she even realized that they were arriving at the platform. Hermione tucked away her book and quill into her bag and then threw the bag over her shoulder. She followed the hordes of students as they stepped onto the platform with their trunks in tow. They were craning their necks looking for their families.

She finally spotted her own parents a little ways off, standing with the other Muggles. They were easily distinguished by their attire and the perturbed expression on their faces. Odd looks were being cast at students carrying broomsticks, toads, or owls, though some did a better job at hiding them than others. She picked up her pace and jogged towards them.

"Mum! Dad!" She waved one of her hands in the air, hoping to get their attention. Sure enough, she received two large smiles as her parents walked towards her.

"Hermione! Welcome back." Jean Granger pulled her into a tight hug, planting a kiss on her head. 

After her mother let go, her father stepped in and took her place. 

"Let's go find the car and get you home. Your mother made spaghetti for supper," Richard said, smiling at his wife and daughter. He was happy to have his family back together. The happiness didn't last long, though because they were interrupted by a drawl a few feet away.

"It's appalling the filth they let on this platform," Pansy's father sneered in their direction. 

She stopped walking and snapped her head towards the voice. The bratty, dark-haired girl looked pleased. She mimicked her mother and father's expression in Hermione's direction. She didn’t break eye contact but jolted when she saw them vanish. 

Only the Notts and Malfoys were standing nearby now. A woman who appeared to be Draco's mother caught her attention next, as she had a vice like grip on his shoulder. They avoided each other's gaze. It wasn't long before they disappeared in a similar way to the Parkinson's, moments later. 

They were unable to get their minds off of what they'd heard. Not wanting to discuss it until they were in private, her parents guided her towards the car in silence. Jean started to open her mouth to speak once they were in the car. She clamped it shut before actually speaking, unsure where to begin. After a few more tries, and a bit of road between them and the station, she was finally able to form words.

"I suppose that was a small snapshot of what you see at school?" she asked, her voice quivering at the thought of what her daughter had to face.

"Yes. Yes, it was. Since I've been friends with Harry and Ron we're almost always together. It's become less frequent. Theodore Nott was the worst in my year, but he's a coward. He would never try anything unless the numbers were at least two to one in his favour," Hermione said. 

She avoided mentioning the confrontations she had with older students. Many of those had landed her in the hospital wing, or left her in a far worse emotional state.

She'd just been reading in the library. She had tucked herself into a corner by the window with her head pressed up against the cold glass. If only she'd stayed a minute longer; maybe she could have avoided them. It had been close to curfew, and she’d been in a rush to get back to the tower. Rounding one of the corners, she had crashed into a larger student. Her books spilled out of her arms, and she went crashing to the floor, hitting her head against the wall on her way down. Tears pooled in her eyes; blood trickled down the side of her head.

"Watch it, Mudblood," the boy she'd run into hissed. He picked up one of the books she'd dropped and threw it at her, then kicked her in the ribs for good measure.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed. "Can't you just leave me alone?" Her voice was small and laced with pain. 

The Ravenclaw girl standing next to him laughed. "Let's go—she seems to have figured out her proper place."

Richard glanced in his mirror to look at his daughter. "Honey, you need to speak with one of your professors," he said. 

Hermione bit back her anger, knowing it shouldn’t be directed at her parents. It was all too easy to remember how well speaking with a professor worked in the past.

"M—Mi—Miss Granger, what are you d—do—doing out past curfew?" Professor Quirrell stuttered, approaching her as she made her way to the hospital wing. 

Did he not see that she had blood all over her? That she was in pain? "I'm going to the hospital wing; two students attacked me."

"Do you know who they are?" he asked.

"No—I think they were seventh years- Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

"Well—I-I-I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but without th-th-their names there's nothing I can d-do."

He turned around, leaving her in the corridors alone.

"They know. They've seen it. They have handed out detentions and docked points, but there's only so much they can do. Even if they had proof of who it was, and their parents were called in, their parents wouldn’t punish them. Actually, they’d be far more likely to reward them.” Hermione sighed, as she tried to make her parents understand. "Telling on them would just make them more vicious."

"You can't stand by and do nothing, Hermione." Sensing her mother was going to lecture her about bullying, she cut her off.

"I'm not doing nothing! I beat them on every exam and answer every question in class. It infuriates them to no end as I'm supposed to be an inferior witch because of my 'dirty blood'." 

The vehemence in her voice startled her parents. They had never heard their daughter speak that way before. Jean and Richard had no idea how to respond. They realized she was right about reporting the incidents, and it wracked them with guilt that there was nothing they could do to help her.

"Well, Hermione, if you want to come back home, you're always welcome to," her father said to her. 

She smiled, despite knowing he was hoping she would give up magic. Her parents accepted what she was, but were far from thrilled at the idea.

"I know. And thanks, it does mean a lot to me, but I belong in the wizarding world no matter what some of those prats say." 

While not reassured, and wishing her answer were different, her parents let themselves smile. They were proud at the backbone their daughter was showing. 

Hermione steered the conversation away from the prejudice and bullying to describing her school. There were so many wonderful things about Hogwarts- the magical ceiling in the Great Hall, sneaking into the Hogwarts kitchen, the ghosts, and flying- just to name a few. She was excited to share her world with them, even if they seemed a little skeptical.

After driving for a little over an hour, the family arrived at a Muggle house in a Muggle neighbourhood. Hermione smiled at the sight. She had missed her childhood home, with the television, radio, the Muggle appliances that hummed, and the rooms that were just so familiar. It was nice to be home.

"Oh, Hermione, a letter came for you a couple days ago." Her mum handed her an envelope. 

When she didn't see an address, she realized it must be from a wizard. She wondered who would be sending her a letter while they were at Hogwarts. She opened it, noting that her parents already had.

Dear Hermione,

My family and I were wondering if you would consider staying with us for a few days when Draco and his parents visit after Christmas. We've all heard so much about you from Draco's letters, and hope we'll get to meet you.

Owl us with a response,

Andy Tonks

The letter caught Hermione off guard, but after she read it, she beamed at her mother. 

Jean Granger was unsure how to respond...With a smile at how happy her daughter was, or a frown because that happiness was coming from the wizarding world.

"Hermione, I think the three of us should have a talk," her mother said. 

After leading her daughter to the dining room, she called in her husband. Once they were all sat around the table, her mother cleared her throat. Her father started to speak.

"We're worried that you being friends with this boy is going to be bad for you. You shouldn't have to sneak around the school to spend time with a friend so that no one finds out. Or meet him at his aunt's place in secret," he said, trying to impress on her how unhealthy the friendship was.

After a few moments of shocked silence, Hermione considered what he said. "You're right, dad. I shouldn't have to." Hermione looked at him. "I also shouldn't have to make sure I'm always travelling the hallway in a group or in the sight of a professor, but I do. Mrs. Tonks shouldn't have gotten disowned for marrying a Muggle-born man, but she was. Mrs. Malfoy shouldn't have to visit her sister in secret, but she does.”

She took a deep breath. “There are a lot of things that we shouldn't have to do, but we do. Draco is my best friend. If working to meet around their crazy background is the only way we can be friends for now... I guess I have no other choice." 

Mr. Granger looked at his daughter, he was sad that she'd had to grow up dealing with prejudice. 

As if reading his thoughts, Hermione spoke again. "It's not just Draco's family that taught me that- yours did, too.”

“What do you…” Richard started to ask.

Before she lost her nerve, Hermione started again. “Every time they called me a freak because of my magic and picked on me at family events I learned that things were unfair.”

“They didn’t!” Jean inhaled sharply, and she cast an accusatory look towards her husband. Moments later she let her shoulders slump, blaming herself as well as Richard for never taking notice.

“Some kids at school were only nice because their parents forced them to be, and the rest gave me scathing looks and ignored me because of the rumours that I was a witch. The only reason they weren't worse to me was because they were afraid." 

She looked down at the table throughout, unable to watch her parents' reaction. She heard a sob from her mother, and glanced up to see her cheeks covered in tears. Turning back to her father, she noticed his eyes were also glassy. Not another moment later, her mother pushed her chair back and walked around the table to pull Hermione into a hug, while Richard reached out and rubbed her shoulder.

"Baby, I am so sorry you've had to go through this." Her mum's voice cracked as she stifled another sob. Hermione let a few of her own tears fall onto her mother's shoulder.

A couple days had gone by with Hermione talking less about the good or bad of the wizarding world to her parents, sensing it had put them on edge. Soon, her parents agreed to let her visit the Tonks' house during break. Hermione started trying to think of a way to send her answer. 

The solution came in the form of Hedwig, Harry's owl. She had delivered a letter from him about their escapades in the restricted section. After reading over the letter, she found herself unimpressed with Harry's research skills. He'd had to run out after the second book he opened. 

She was intrigued upon hearing that Professor Snape was threatening Professor Quirrell, thinking it confirmed her suspicion towards the man. She was particularly wary of him after what she'd seen during Harry's Quidditch match, there was no doubt in her mind that he was casting a spell at Harry's broomstick. 

Shaking her head, she penned her two replies, asking the owl to deliver the one to Mrs. Tonks first. After giving her a treat and some water, she sent her off.

Christmas Day was a bittersweet event. Her morning was wonderful, but in the evening they had gone to visit her grandparents. She didn't mind them so much; they were quiet about their disdain towards her. It was her aunts, uncles, and cousins that bothered her. Her parents finally realized, after twelve years, how their relatives treated their daughter, so Jean and Richard stuck much closer to her than they usually did. With them nearby, there were fewer scathing remarks to Hermione. 

They couldn't prevent the quiet comments passed to her at dinner, because Hermione sat around the separate table for the children while eating the meal. She didn't deign it worth her time to acknowledge most of the comments. She just rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth.

"So, Hermione, tell us about your freak school," Jenna said. "Are the other freaks like you or do they find you as insufferable as we do? It's disgusting that they let you people mix with us." 

Hermione looked at the girl. She could let insults to her appearance slide. Insults to her intelligence she knew were laughable. She would draw the line here. "Well, actually there are quite a few people opposed to my kind, as you say. Mixing with Muggles, they would agree, is disgusting." 

She apologized to Draco, wherever he was, for what she was going to say next. "As it happens, my best friend is from a family that firmly believes in magical supremacy—the idea that Muggles, non-magic people, ought to be dominated or killed. Now, because you're all family and I like to think of myself as a decent person, I don't share those views. If, however, someone says one more thing about me or ‘my kind’, I will find a particularly nasty way to get even. Maybe you'll have giant pus filled boils for the rest of your lives, or maybe your hair will fall out. I haven't decided yet. Are we all clear?" 

She looked around at the shocked and scared expressions on her cousins' faces. She smiled; she had achieved her purpose. "An apology for all the nasty things I've put up with wouldn't go unappreciated either." 

Mumbled apologies tumbled out of her cousins' mouths. She found herself quite pleased when they finished their dinner in silence. On the drive home, though, Hermione remembered her words and her insides twisted with guilt.

"My cousins wouldn't leave me alone when we were eating, so I threatened them." Her parents were unsure where their daughter was going with her confession. "They were spewing the same garbage I get at school, and I lost it. It felt good, too, seeing them afraid of me and apologizing, but it was wrong. Wasn't it? Using my power like that to belittle them."

"Yes, it was wrong. You know you shouldn't threaten them with magic," her father chided.

Hermione nodded and fell back to her thoughts. She debated what exactly her feelings were towards the whole situation.

The next day she woke up and had made up her mind; the guilt had subsided. She wouldn't say she was sorry to them. She wasn't even sure she was. She would avoid threats in the future, when they were avoidable, but her cousins had, beyond a shadow of doubt, deserved it, and more. They had ganged up against her for years, pulling some rather nasty pranks.  
She didn't want to escalate anything with them; she wanted them to leave her alone. So she wasn't sorry, and she wouldn't lie to them and pretend like she was a better person than she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! I hope you continue to enjoy :)
> 
> I just wanted to address a comment someone made to me elsewhere about the story sticking too close to canon. It won't. I have no intention of just rehashing the same scenes throughout the seven books. Characters that weren't important in the canon might carry a more significant role, affecting Hermione and the people surrounding her in different ways. As the characters grow up and make new relationships, they're going to be different people than they originally were eg. Harry would have turned out very differently if Ron and Hagrid hadn't told him Slytherin was the evil house. By the seventh book, he was Gryffindor through and through. Hermione had a lot more qualities that I would attribute to Slytherin to compensate for the boys' brashness, something that would (arguably) never have developed if she'd been sorted into Ravenclaw. It follows that if the characters are exposed to different situations, major events will take place differently.
> 
> I tried to compensate for the fact that I really don't think the first year (and maybe a half) would be all that different yet by spending more time focused on her holidays, her friendships other than Harry and Ron at school, and her budding relationship with the Tonks and Malfoys.
> 
> I hope if any of you had the same concerns I explained the reason for the choices I made! I'm always open to constructive criticism. I want to become a better writer, and I'll happily change things around in my story to address the problem, or at least keep it in mind in the future.


	5. A Visit to Tonks Cottage

As they slowly ate their breakfast the next morning, a knock at the door jolted the sleepy family awake

"I'll go see who it is." Hermione's mother stood to go answer the door, and a curious Hermione trailed behind. Jean cracked the door open and was alarmed to find a girl wearing violet wizard robes and sporting bright pink hair at her doorstep.

"Hi! My mum sent me to see when we could collect Hermione."

"Dora?" Hermione asked hesitantly as she walked towards the door.

"Hermione! I'm very glad to meet you; my cousin has been prattling about you in his letters since he met you on the train." Dora smiled at the younger girl, who gestured for her to come inside when Jean stepped away from the door. "Sorry I'm here so early, and unannounced. Our owl got himself into a bit of a brawl with a cat, so he won't be able to fly for the rest of the week." 

Hermione liked her already. In addition to her easy, friendly manner, there was nothing condescending about the way she talked to her, despite their age difference. Hermione and her mum led the girl into the sitting room, where they were shortly joined by her father. After chatting rather pleasantly- despite the odd looks they kept sending towards her hair and attire- with the family for over an hour, Dora remembered the original purpose of her visit.

"Before I forget again, I'm supposed to be talking with you about when I can kidnap Hermione. Draco, Aunt Cissa, and Uncle Lucius dropped by last night and they'll be with us all week, my mum says she's welcome to stay as long as she wants." Dora grinned at Hermione again. 

Hermione turned to her parents, silently asking their permission.

"Well, it's up to Hermione, really," Jean said smiling. She looked at Hermione, hoping she wouldn't want to stay past a day or two. Her heart sunk when she watched Hermione brighten up at the idea of spending the full week there, then vocalize that she'd like to. 

After a few more minutes, Dora let them know she would be heading home to fill her mum in on the plan, and would be back to pick up Hermione sometime after lunch.

After she left, Hermione bounded to her room, excited to pack her trunk for the week. Her dad went with her, helping her sort through what she did and didn't want to bring. When they were done, the pair went back downstairs to have one more lunch as a family before she left. 

Her trunk by the door and everything ready to go, her parents looked at her a little sadly. They were happy their daughter had made friends at her new school, they knew she'd been lonely before, but it still didn't sit well that the children she'd finally connected with were different. It felt like they were losing their little girl to a world they couldn't follow her in. Particularly after they'd seen how some families treated her on the platform, they wanted to bring her back to what they knew.

To their evident chagrin, Dora showed up as promised shortly after lunch. She chatted briefly with the Grangers, then they said their goodbyes. The girls were off to the Tonks’ residence. It was a very different drive than Hermione had expected. Rather than follow the usual roads, Dora turned into a quiet alley and activated an invisibility spell on the vehicle. After she pressed another button, the car started to fly, leaving the other cars, roads, and houses far below them. Dora threw Hermione a grin when she noticed her startled expression.

"How did you make the trip there and back twice today?" Hermione questioned Dora after she'd told her they would be a couple of hours to her home.

"Oh, I only did it once in this. I Apparated this morning, but people usually get sick the first few times. I thought you might be more comfortable taking my dad's car," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"Oh, thanks! I'm sorry, this is taking up your whole day…" Hermione said. She looked absolutely distraught at the knowledge she'd caused her new friend so much trouble.

"Hermione, don't you dare! I was happy to come pick you up; plus it'll be worth the look on Draco's face when he sees you."

"You mean he doesn't know I'm coming?" Hermione asked, surprised. She assumed he knew she would be there, and hadn't brought it up when writing to him. Choosing to fill him in on everything else that mattered. 

Dora shook her head cheerfully in response. After a few moments of silence, she began fiddling with the radio dial, looking for the most ridiculous Muggle music she could find. Hermione laughed as the girl sang along, and in some cases, Hermione even joined her. The next two hours went by quickly, and before they knew it, they were landing in front of a pleasant looking brick cottage nestled along the side of a forest. The grounds and trees were covered in Muggle and magical Christmas decorations and adorned with a thin layer of snow. It was absolutely splendid.  
"Alright, 'Mione! Time to meet my family." 

Dora jumped out of the car and levitated the trunk out of the back. Leading the way, she walked through the front door first and proceeded to trip over a chair in the entrance. "Damn chair!" she wailed, clutching her foot.

"Dora, are you alright?" Hermione asked. Dora was now sitting on the chair that had almost caused her to catapult across the room, nursing her foot. 

"I have lived here for eighteen years. That chair has been there all eighteen of them, and I still trip on it! No, I'm not alright; there is very clearly something wrong with me," she said bitterly, glaring at the chair.

Moments later she smiled again and laughed, assuring an alarmed Hermione she really was fine, only a little clumsy.

"Dora, you're back, where were you all—" Draco drawled, walking into the room. He cut his question short when Hermione launched herself towards him and pulled him into a hug. "Hermione?!" he exclaimed, returning her hug than beaming between his cousin and the girl she'd brought back.

"I stole her from her parents, and we get to keep her all week!" Dora exclaimed proudly to her little cousin, ruffling his hair. 

The glare he shot at her for the gesture, which ruined his perfectly gelled back hairstyle, only spurred the older girl on. Hermione joined Dora after observing with a smile for a moment, and they redoubled their efforts still when he tried to bat away their hands. Finally, the little boy was saved when the adults walked in, laughing at the scene before them. 

There were two men, who Hermione thought looked uncannily like their children, and two women, clearly related, yet still, somehow opposite in appearance. "Mum, Dad, Aunt Cissa, Uncle Lucius; this is Hermione."

"Hi, Hermione, it's lovely to finally meet you." Mr. Tonks offered his hand, as did Mr. Malfoy, which Hermione happily returned; Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Tonks surprised her when they each pulled her into a hug.

"It's nice to meet all of you, too," Hermione said shyly, a little embarrassed to meet the people she'd heard so much about.

"Draco, why don't you show her to the guest room and help her unpack? You'll have time to catch up before supper," Narcissa suggested.

"Alright! It's this way." He pointed to the door closest to them and helped her carry her trunk up the stairs.

The pair of them talked, already planning out what they would do during their week. Shortly before supper, Draco lit up, remembering something. He dragged Hermione by the arm to the sitting room. Searching the coffee table, he found a small package on the table and thrust it towards Hermione.

"Happy Christmas!" He smiled and she looked down at the object he was holding. 

It was a pretty gold necklace with a broom-shaped pendant. Taking it from his hands, she examined the pendant more closely. It was an exact replica of a Flyabout.

"It's beautiful, thank you," she said, thrilled with the beautiful present he'd bought her. She gave him another hug.

"It's even better than that." He took the necklace back from her and muttered a spell at it. She watched in awe as it expanded into a full-size broomstick with the chain wrapping itself around the end, just in front of where she would place her hands when she flew it.

"It's wonderful!" She looked at it in amazement. "Thank you, Draco." She beamed at him as he handed it back to her.

"Want to try it out after dinner? My mum bought me a broom, too," he said, proudly dragging her to the spot near the back door where he was keeping his new Nimbus 2001. 

Hermione looked aghast between him and the broom. She was dying to know how his parents had been able to find one before they'd been officially released. 

"We'll have even numbers to play Quidditch later, too!” Draco informed her, smirking. 

Hermione rolled her eyes at his smug look, telling him he sounded like Harry and Ron going on about Quidditch. He noticed the small smile playing on her lips and knew she was just as excited as he was, no matter how much she denied it. 

They went to the sitting room to find the adults and wait for supper, even though it was a little nerve-wracking for her to sit down in the room full of strangers. She thanked the older Malfoys for the present as well and was pleasantly surprised at how different their countenance was in private. She'd been nervous to meet them after how she'd seen them behave on the platform.

The rest of the week went by, and she found herself playing Quidditch, rather often, with the entire family. The teams were surprisingly evenly matched, with herself playing on a team with the older Tonks, and Draco playing with his parents. Dora watched and cheered them on enthusiastically when she was around, admitting freely that she hated flying. It came down to having crashed off of her broom far too many times for comfort. 

It was strange being a part of a magical family the way she was that week. There was no awkwardness between them or subjects she felt she couldn't broach, Muggle or wizard. She was allowed to do magic- the trace wasn't a problem because of where she was currently residing. Both sets of parents were surprisingly, or rather unsurprisingly, lenient with the ‘magic outside of school’ rule. By the end of the week, she was sorry to say goodbye. Even with the promise that they would write, and the knowledge that she and Draco would have their journals; it was still disappointing that she wouldn't be able to spend more time with them.

Back at home, things quickly fell back to normal with her parents. They went back to their daily routine, which for Hermione consisted of sending letters and notes to Harry, communicating with Draco through their magical journals, and devouring book after book. 

Her parents watched her delve still further into the magical world with growing concern. It was alarming to see their daughter read about so many elements of what they'd considered fiction as fact and to hear that there was little in the way of science or math taught. Potions- that was a little like chemistry, they tried to reason, but it didn't hold up to the standards they were used to. They put books on such subjects on her shelf, trying to subtly replace the magical volumes. Hermione only ignored them for the most part, glancing through them after she'd finished everything else that she owned.

"Mum, can we go to Diagon Alley? I'm out of things to read and I'd like to pick up a book on ancient runes!" Hermione asked enthusiastically. She was sure her parents would be happy to take her when they had the time; they'd always encouraged her to read.

"Why don't we go to one of our bookstores instead? We could pick something out there." Jean hoped to steer her daughter towards some of their own Muggle literature instead. Something her and her husband understood and could relate to.

It was difficult for Hermione to mask her disappointment, but she agreed. Muggle books were still interesting. 

They went to the bookstore right that afternoon, and Hermione picked out Anne of Green Gables and Pride and Prejudice, two novels her mother strongly recommended, and a history book vaguely overviewing the history of Europe in the past two hundred years. It was broad, but Hermione hoped to compare it to the history of the wizarding world over the same timeline they studied in school. 

Both of them were quite satisfied when they left the bookstore, happy that they had achieved at least part of their objectives. Hermione would be able to delve a little deeper into her understanding of wizards, even if it was in comparison to Muggles, and her mum had gotten her daughter three sensible, normal books.

 

The holiday wrapped up, and soon it was time for Hermione to board the train. Her parents were far from enthralled by the idea of their daughter going back to school, half thinking they ought to pull her out and send her to a proper school in London. 

When they heard exactly how Hermione had threatened her cousins, they were very uneasy and more eager to remove her. Through their outraged siblings, the Grangers had been made aware of what she had said. When they found out, they came to the startling realization that their daughter scared them. A part of them knew the threats were mostly empty, but it was just that mostly- they were afraid of how she would grow up at Hogwarts; of what would happen to the sweet little girl they'd always known. In the end, they were afraid they would drive her still further from them, so they decided to wait until the summer to broach the topic.


	6. Triumphs and Failures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple lines of dialogue were borrowed from the books/movies. Obviously, just like I don't own anything else recognizable, these aren't mine! 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

On the train, Hermione sat in an empty carriage and pulled out Anne of the Island. She was enjoying the books, their fiery heroine appealing to her, even though Gilbert Blythe was a far less interesting suitor than Mr. Darcy. The latter had an aura of mystery and intrigue while the former was her best friend, plain and simple. It was sweet that she fell in love with him, it really was, but the handsome aloof stranger sweeping Lizzie off her feet—from enemies to lovers—was far more appealing. 

She was just settling in when the door to her compartment flew open, admitting a hysterical Lavender Brown. The girl walked in and throwing herself on the seat next across from Hermione.

“Parvati is terrible!” Lavender wailed. She moaned about her best friend’s betrayal between sobs. 

Hermione looked at her book one more time, mournfully putting it away and giving her new friend her undivided attention. From the fragmented information that she was given, she understood that Parvati told Seamus that Lavender fancied him and that she was somehow mortified by this information, even though their entire year, all four Houses, already knew. She gathered the girl did, in fact, fancy Seamus, and the reason for the tears was that he insulted Lavender when he heard. 

She moved next to the distraught girl, putting an arm tentatively around her shoulder. Having never had a real girl friend before Dora, comforting someone like this was rather out of her element.

“Do you really care what he thinks? Lavender, half the girls in our grade are mad with envy of you. You’re so pretty. So what if one git can’t see it? This is the guy who blew up a feather.” 

It was a shaky attempt at making Lavender feel better, but she brightened considerably at the thought of being the envy of her grade. In all honesty, she was. Her hair was always perfect, her clothes just right. She had an easy grace and a cheerfulness which made even Hermione a little jealous. 

“Thanks, Hermione,” Lavender sniffled.

Knowing she was onto something with the flattery, Hermione pushed it a little more. “See, even when you’re crying you’re beautiful. It’ll be alright. I’m sure Parvati didn’t mean to hurt you, she probably thought Seamus would be happy to hear you liked him, and it would move things along. It’s not her fault he’s a boy.” she spoke the last word with distaste, crinkling her nose. It won a small laugh.

The other girl looked at her like she hadn’t considered that before, and seemed significantly cheered up. “What were you reading?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh, it’s called Anne of the Island; it’s a Muggle book. The first two were really good, and I think this one will be, too.” Hermione said, excited to talk about anything to do with books. 

Lavender showed a surprising amount of interest, and Hermione even lent her a copy of the first one. The train ride went by quickly, but Hermione found herself casting the occasional longing glance towards her green leather-bound book on the seat where she’d been sitting earlier. 

When the door to her compartment opened a second time, the two girls looked up. A startled Draco looked between them, opening and closing his mouth, unsure what to say. Before he’d managed to form a word, he closed the door and left, rather disappointed at the missed opportunity to speak with Hermione. Since boarding the train, his mission had been to get away from the other Slytherins, but now he cursed himself for not considering she might be sitting with someone. 

After he left, Lavender raised her eyebrows at Hermione who was, at the moment, looking rather expressionless. “Your secret boyfriend doesn’t want anyone to know about the two of you, what a coward,” Lavender scoffed, staring at the closed door. 

“He’s not my ‘secret boyfriend’, Lav. And it’s more complicated than him not wanting anyone to know, it’s a family thing. I don’t even entirely know the reason,” she replied, rolling her eyes.

“I told you, he’s a coward. Simple,” she replied.

“Whatever it is, it’s not simple. It’s about more than just House rivalry, and I think you know that, ” Hermione repeated. 

The conversation regarding Draco was closed for now, and they moved on to more neutral topics. She knew that since Lavender had kept the secret diligently, the girl understood the complications better than she let on. It had come as a surprise to Hermione since she started really talking to Lavender, how intelligent she was. She was quick to put together what was around her, and her curiosity rivalled Hermione’s. It might have been the reason she was so drawn to gossip, because she wanted to understand everything happening around her, fitting together everyone’s roles like pieces of a puzzle. 

There was a difference between a gossip and what Lavender was, Hermione decided as she listened to her talk. Parvati was a gossip, she spread rumours indiscriminately without a care, but Lavender was a bit more than that. She would sort through the rumour mill, fastidiously examining the information presented to her and sorting it into truth, part truth, and rubbish then spread what suited her purpose. It was a game to her.

Stepping off the train, Hermione’s stomach growled and she was reminded of the bagged lunch her mother had packed for her. It was probably still neatly sitting on the kitchen counter back home. With a groan, she tossed her head back and told Lavender she would join her in the common room shortly. 

Caught up in how brilliantly they seemed to be getting along, she barely stopped herself from asking the other girl to take the detour with her to the kitchen. Now that Lavender and Parvati were on speaking terms again, she should take a step back, she reminded herself. The last thing she wanted was for either of them to think she was intruding on their friendship. 

She glanced around the corridor hoping to spot Draco, but he was nowhere to be seen in the mass of students syphoning off to their respective dormitories. After a few more moments of fruitless searching, she made her way to the basement and the concealed kitchen entrance. 

Tickling the pear in the portrait always seemed an odd way to summon the door, but who was she to complain? It turned into a bright, cheery green handle, and she was still as fascinated as every other time she’d seen it happen. 

“Granger?” a shocked voice called out after she stepped through the threshold. She did a double take, seeing the Weasley twins staring at her from a spot at the end of the kitchen replica of the Gryffindor table. Except for Draco, it was the first time she’d seen human occupants in this particular room.

Hermione had mixed feelings about the pair; while they were loud and obnoxious, it was in a usually pleasant, funny way. Their jokes and humour consisted of harmless things, never targeting a specific person to set them up for humiliation the way so many others did. Well, at least not unless they had it coming to them.

“Fred, George,” she said curtly, allowing them a small smile before turning her attention to one of the house-elves who’d come by to see what she wanted. She chatted with him, oblivious to the incredulous expression both boys wore while staring in her direction. 

“But no one knows about this place!” Fred, or at least the boy she decided was Fred, exclaimed, interrupting her conversation.

“You’re here,” she countered snootily. 

The pair spluttered a moment, trying to sort out how Gryffindor’s first-year goody-two-shoes found the secret entrance. From what their little brother said, she spent most of her time alone in the library, never stepping a toe out of line. They’d pegged her as a future Percy Weasley, but clearly, they were mistaken. 

The pair continued to stare at the door incredulously many minutes after she left. It had, after all, taken them two years and a rather remarkable find in Filch’s office before they found this particular Hogwarts secret.

Oblivious to the fact that she’d upturned the twin Weasley brothers’ opinion of her, Hermione walked back towards her common room. Groups of students still lingered in the corridors, mingling for the last hour before curfew. She passed by quickly, stepping through the maze of larger students. By now, she vaguely recognized most of them, and they were classified in her mind in an ever-changing list ranging from most to least horrible. 

The boy and girl from the incident, preceding her run in with Quirrell, were pretty near the top, closely by the professor himself. She was certain she would never forgive him for letting her practically crawl towards the hospital wing on her own. 

Too busy observing the scattered Ravenclaws, she hadn’t spotted Theodore Nott, and Marcus Flint with his posse, at least until she overheard a rather pathetic impersonation of herself. They were only a few feet away, in a hallway that branched towards the dungeons. 

Hermione turned sharply towards them, her eyes narrowing as she watched Nott make a spectacle of himself, trying to impress the older boys. His voice carried in the same way it did when he was around Draco, quite a bit louder than was strictly necessary. Taking on a particularly self-important tone, he recounted a nasty set down she’d received from Snape before the holidays. 

She halted and sneered at them. 

“Shut up, Nott. At least I don’t simper whenever anyone richer than Daddy’s around,” she said, attempting to appear much braver than she felt. 

She was pleased her voice sounded confident. The small wave of satisfaction that washed over her when she saw a blush appear on Nott’s cheeks was only amplified when he practically tripped over himself looking for a response.

She was about to leave when he finally seemed to come to his senses, closely watched by the surrounding Slytherins. “I don’t simper, you filthy little Mudblood.” 

If it was meant to sound menacing, it failed. Instead, it took on a rather whiny quality, reminiscent of Draco’s when he didn’t get his way. 

Hermione rolled her eyes at his weak denial. There were too many people around for her to need to worry about anything particularly ghastly, but it wouldn’t put it passed them to hex her with something embarrassing. With that in mind, she looked at them wearily, then walked away as the rest of the group joined in and began to spew a tirade of ‘Mudblood’ insults. She kept her chin held up proudly. The last thing she needed was to let them know they were getting to her.

 

Dear Mum and Dad,

I miss you both already. 

I’m happy to be back at school. I sat with Lavender on the train. She was upset with her friend about something to do with a boy. I feel bad for her, but it was kinda nice to comfort a friend about something like that. You know it’s the first time anyone’s ever come to me? Anyway, I like Lavender. I think we’re actually friends now, I loaned her Anne of Green Gables. I think she’ll like it. 

Harry and Ron seemed to have had a good Christmas. Harry got an invisibility cloak! It’s amazing, it hides you completely when you’re under it, and Ron’s mum made them both ‘Weasley Jumpers’ which are these horrible, ugly, knit sweaters. I guess it’s sweet, though.

Love, 

Hermione

She wrote the letter at a desk in the common room, staring into the fireplace once she was done, not knowing what else to add. She couldn’t help but tell them about the invisibility cloak, it was much too fascinating not to mention, but she didn’t want to say anything else about magic. They’d seemed irked when she’d brought it up during the holidays, and even more so when she came back from her week away. 

She wondered if their disapproval had always been there, hidden under a pretence of acceptance until it couldn’t help but seep through, or if it was a recent development. She considered posting it right away but decided to write a few more first and take them all up to the owlery at the same time, hopefully with Lavender and Pavarti accompanying her.

Dear Dora,

I had such a wonderful time with you at your parent’s place! I’m a little embarrassed about writing, but since you insisted I should, I will. I’m not sure what I should write about, but I guess I’ll start with saying that I miss you, even though you wouldn't play Quidditch with us!

I miss a lot of things from that week, it was nice to spend a week in the magical world, like I actually belonged there. Ever since leaving, people keep trying to tell me I don’t belong, and it’s awful. I went home, and my parents seemed more on edge than ever about me being a witch, constantly trying to slip me Muggle books, or suggest I go to a Muggle school instead of Hogwarts. 

I like Muggle books! They act like I don’t, but I do. Is it so bad though that I wanted to read magical books instead? After I got back to Hogwarts, Nott and Flint both yelled some garbage at me about being a Mudblood. Nothing I haven’t heard before from them, but why can’t everyone just accept that I’m a witch? I do everything I can to prove I belong here, but people still keep telling me I don’t.

On a happier note, I’m finally friends with one of my dorm mates. Lavender Brown and I didn’t get off to the best start, but stuff seems to have changed, because we sat together on the train. I’m still scared because the reason things changed was that she snatched a note Draco signed (who actually signs a secret note) from the owl he sent before I could get it. She hasn’t told a soul though, and it’s been well over a month. So that’s something. She’s a lot more intelligent than I think most people give her credit for, she just doesn’t apply herself in class very much.

Ron and Harry failed miserably at the research I’d tasked them with over break, but they did hear an interesting conversation between Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell. Was Snape always a prejudiced jerk towards everyone outside his House? I’m sure I won’t get anything past an ‘Acceptable’ on the potions essay I did over break, despite Cissa helping me! 

I want to hear about auror training! And that boy you were talking about. 

Love,

Hermione

She wrote somewhat similar letters to both the Malfoys and Tonks, filling them in on her return home, the train ride, and how happy she was to be back at Hogwarts. It was nice to be able to express her fascination for magical things in them. She felt comfortable telling them mostly anything despite having only spent a week with them. In the letter to Draco’s parents, she felt momentarily inspired. If anyone would know the name of a wizard, dead or alive, it would be Lucius Malfoy, so she asked him about Nicholas Flamel. 

Lavender and Parvati, who had, since the arrival back at Hogwarts, made up, walked her to the Owlery; she was careful to hide who the letters were addressed to, but despite her best efforts Lavender caught a glimpse of an envelope as she secured it to the owl. The girl seemed to be practically dying from her curiosity, but Hermione only gave her a warning glance. 

Lavender knew some things were better not to pry into, and the Malfoy family and Hermione’s association with them was one of those things. Still though, letting go of a good story was a challenge. Initially, she had entertained the idea that Draco might be afraid of his parent’s reaction to him spending time with a Muggle-born, but with the letter Hermione sent this time, it was evident that that wasn’t the case. 

Her new hypothesis was that some He-Who-Must-not-Be-Named’s followers would still be keeping tabs on Lucius Malfoy. It wasn’t a very well formed idea, more of a feeling, but if that was the case she could understand Draco’s need for secrecy quite well. With that in mind, she vowed to herself not to bring it up again for the sake of her friend’s safety—Hermione found herself in the hospital wing far too often as it was.

When Hermione received a reply to all four letters the next day, it was the beginning of a regular, rather thorough, correspondence with both families. Along with the Malfoys’ letter, which she received at night away from prying eyes, Lucius and Narcissa attached a package. It contained a book, which they said would fill her in on anything she wanted to know about Flamel, and assorted treats. 

The treats were certainly Cissa’s doing, sugar quills, chocolate, and a wizarding dessert concoction that she had loved eating at Andy’s house; it was enough to make any twelve-year-old gleeful, especially one whose parents had always been strict with sweets. She had a bite of the desert immediately, not being able to help herself, but everything else was stashed in case she needed to make it last. 

It turned out not to be a problem, as often as Draco received a package and a letter from home, Hermione received a similar package and letter in the evening. The Tonks were no less generous, and often included sweets, books, trinkets, and pictures.

After getting the first book sent by the Malfoys, she flipped to the back, looking for an index to find Flamel. When it was abundantly clear that there was no semblance of one, or even a table of contents, the book received a vicious glare. Some things really ought to be borrowed from the Muggle world and organization in books was one of them. She huffed in frustration, thinking it must have been Lucius’s idea to send it rather than say anything directly. It made her smile despite herself, and rather than be discouraged by the large volume, Hermione started reading some of it whenever she got the chance. 

It wasn’t until one night, a couple of weeks later, that she found the first mention of the wizard. ‘Nicholas Flamel noted alchemist…’ she read the sentence a few times over, jubilant at having found it. He was the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone. The Stone! She jumped up out of her bed and dashed into the common room, hoping to find Harry and Ron.  
“The Philosopher’s Stone, Hermione!” Harry said excitedly when she was close enough that no one would overhear.

Her excitement at having solved it was still far too present to feel any disappointment that she hadn’t been the only one to catch on.

“How did you figure it out? I just read it, too!” Hermione gestured to the book. 

Ron’s eyes bulged as he saw the size of the volume she held in both hands. “Hermione, why were you reading that?” He pointed to the book, as though in fear of the thick volume. 

She laughed. “Oh, I checked it out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.” She brushed it off with a quick lie, knowing it was absolutely believable. 

His mouth opened and closed a few more times, in shock that anyone would refer to the brick she held as ‘light’, and Hermione took a few seconds to revel in his expression before going back to the discovery itself. They spoke hurriedly marvelling in their new knowledge of what was being guarded in the castle, then rushed off almost right away to Hagrid’s cabin. Soon pounding on the door.

“Hagrid, we know about the Philosopher’s Stone!” The three cried in unison when he was initially reluctant to open the door. 

It had the desired effect, and the half-giant ushered them into his hut, quickly closing the door behind them. That’s when Hermione saw it. Here, on the grounds of Hogwarts, in Hagrid’s hut, was a dragon egg. There was no doubt in her mind. Andy had sent her a book on them just a couple days ago, and she’d spent the evening, once she was done with her homework, looking through the pictures—they were absolutely beautiful creatures. 

Before she’d recovered from her shock, Ron surprised her by identifying what they were looking at. She cast him a skeptical glance, wondering how anyone who’d gone the entire year so far without so much as picking up a book could possibly know that.

Looking a little ruffled, Hagrid admitted it. Hermione’s mind was racing, she’d half hoped he hadn’t known what it was. She loved Hagrid dearly, despite Draco’s protest that he was an oaf, but raising a dragon in a wooden hut was far from sensible. If it didn’t injure or kill him, it would be a miracle—not to mention it might hurt a student! 

Harry and Ron seemed a lot less perturbed than she was, happily carrying out a conversation with the gamekeeper as though a dangerous, magical creature wasn’t about to hatch near them. It did, though- the dragon hatched. She had to admit it was beautiful, but her elation at seeing the beast  
was significantly hampered by the illegality of it being present. 

Her stomach twisted into knots as she wondered how to address the situation. “Hagrid, it needs to go live in a colony. He’ll be happier there, with other dragons,” she said gently. 

To her relief, Harry and Ron seemed to support her idea.

“My brother, Charlie, works with them in Romania, I could write to him and ask him to come collect him,” Ron said, happy to be useful.

And there it was, Hermione thought, how Ron actually knew something that couldn’t be read on the back of a chocolate frog card.

“What if he don’ like Romania?” Hagrid looked shocked at the idea of parting with his newest charge, but Hermione persisted.

“Hagrid, he’s a dragon, he’ll grow. You won’t be able to keep him here, he could be dangerous to the students,” she paused, seeing he was about to protest, she added quickly, “Even if he’s a good dragon and he doesn’t mean to be.”

With a lot of persuasion from all three, when they left, it was decided that Ron would contact Charlie, who hopefully would take the lead on how to remove the dragon without exposing Hagrid. Hermione was shaken that night when she returned to her dormitory, and dug out her journal immediately. 

Can you meet me at the clearing? she penned. 

It was a few minutes before she got an answer, but as soon as she did, she threw on her warmer cloak and opened the window, checking that there were no students around. When she looked down her breath caught, damn the tower was high, but she pointed her wand at her necklace and grew the broom to its full size. 

After one more furtive glance around her, she took the leap of faith that the broom would still hold her, and jumped out the window. Riding something that didn’t lose bristles every time it was taken out, she realized, felt a lot safer. It was a shame that the school didn’t upgrade—there would be much fewer accidents on newer brooms.

“Hagrid has a dragon, a dragon,” she cried as soon as her friend had landed near her.

“What?” Draco asked the frantic girl, putting an arm on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down.

“Hagrid. Has. A. Dragon,” she spoke again, painfully clearly. 

He looked at her disbelievingly. “Hermione, you can’t exactly hide a dragon in that shack he lives in…” Draco tried to reason with her, clearly not believing it was even a possibility.

“It’s a baby- I saw it hatch a couple hours ago.” Her eyes were still wide as she recalled first walking into the hut.

“He lives in a bloody wooden shack! Is he out of his mind?” Draco asked in horror. 

Hermione nodded miserably as she flopped down on her back onto the snow. She let out a loud groan. “Why are people so stupid?” she exclaimed, arms falling above her head. “Ron’s writing to his brother, so hopefully we can get the thing out of the country quietly without him being fired.”

“You should let my father know, he’ll back off if he knows you’re involved. Otherwise, if he gets wind of it—which I know he will…a Weasley, Dumbledore, and the oaf? Too good of an opportunity to pass up...” Draco trailed off, his lip quirking up sideways. 

Lucius Malfoy hated the Weasleys, all of them. Particularly Arthur. She’d only spent a week with him, but the point was abundantly clear. It was rather flattering, she decided, that Draco thought the man would even consider putting his vendetta against him on hold for her sake. 

“Yeah, I was gonna write to your parents about it anyways,” Hermione admitted with a smile. 

Telling Lucius was a risk, but a much smaller one than letting him find out on his own. He was far too intent on sabotaging that family for him to miss what Charlie was doing.

She filled him in on the rest of her evening after that, all about the dragon hatching and about the difficulty of convincing Hagrid to send ‘Norbert’, as he’d named the dragon, away. They sat in the snow, a warming charm performed on their cloaks. Even though their meetings were a regular occurrence, they still never ran out of things to talk about. The only topic they steered clear of was a too in-depth a discussion about Harry and Ron. 

They were brought up in conversation enough, being a core component, along with Lavender and Pavarti, of most of Hermione’s stories in Gryffindor, but Draco’s opinion of them was abundantly clear throughout the school. The struggle Hermione was faced with was that she couldn’t help but agree with many of his assessments of them, but, unlike him, she respected them- more Harry than Ron- at least a little. 

Hermione admired Harry’s bravery, despite his foolish, stubborn nature, and Draco didn’t. Showing up to a duel in the dead of the night when he couldn’t properly cast a single spell being a prime example. Hermione tried not to think of Ron. She still didn’t like him, but it made her feel guilty that not liking him meant she was only spending time with him, using him, so she wouldn’t be alone between classes. Best not to think of it at all, because going back to being a loner wasn’t  
an option in the current political climate; her monthly trips to the infirmary were already bad enough.

Eventually, they fell into a few moments of peaceful quiet. She was looking up at the sky through the branches, watching the mixture of colors when suddenly a cold, loose ball of snow hit her square in the face. She sat up, letting out a shriek before trying to wipe it off. When a second snowball hit her on the shoulder, she turned sharply towards Draco, her eyes narrowing dangerously towards him as she saw him packing a new missile. 

Without any warning, he was the one who let out a cry as she tackled him into a nearby snowbank.

“It’s cold!” he yelled as she took her turn to laugh at him, packing a new snowball to complete her revenge.

Weeks went on with Hagrid still in the precarious situation of keeping a dragon while Charlie Weasley arranged with them to pick up Norbert at Hogwarts one night. The plans began to be more concrete, and soon a time and place were set: midnight atop the Astronomy Tower. 

Unbeknownst to the others, Hermione contacted Lucius. Though very, very reluctantly, he agreed to turn a blind eye to the dragon and to try and prevent its discovery. On the actual night, the plan was so thorough Hermione thought nothing could go awry. Despite this, the tension was still there when they carried it with them into the castle, and it wasn’t until after they’d handed him off that they were able to relax. 

Walking quietly back towards Gryffindor tower, her and Harry paused when they saw a familiar face, half in despair at having been caught, and half elation that it was only now after the dragon was gone.They joined Draco and Neville as Professor McGonagall led them all to her office. Draco caught her eye, then shot Neville an annoyed glare.

“I’m very disappointed in all of you,” the woman began, looking coldly between all four students. “Fifty points will be taken from your Houses, and you will all be serving detention tomorrow with Hagrid.”


	7. Detention and Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> Again, any and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue do not belong to me!

The next evening, they waited outside Professor McGonagall’s office until Filch came for them, leading them out to Hagrid’s hut. Hermione rolled her eyes, then suppressed a laugh, catching Draco’s expression as the caretaker went on about the ‘old punishments’. She wondering if they ever even existed, or if he merely enjoyed trying to scare the students. She decided she would consult Hogwarts: A History, as soon as she returned to the castle, or else ask the Tonks or the Malfoys if they knew. Probably both.

  
  


“The forest?” Draco exclaimed, “I thought that was a joke. You can’t expect us to go in there! My father  _ will _ hear about this.”

 

She found a small smile playing on her lips. Oh, Draco, ever with a penchant for drama. He didn’t seem to mind the forest half as much when they went together, on an almost daily basis. Yes, his father would hear about this, and Lucius would probably rant and rave about the incompetence of Dumbledore, sending a disapproving letter to the ‘old coot’ and complain at the next board meeting. It was easy to see where his son got his theatrics from. 

 

“We’re lookin’ for a unicorn; I’ve been findin’ unicorn blood. One of them is injured, and it’s our job to find it. Neville, you can go with Malfoy,” Hagrid said gruffly. 

 

Draco shot a glare at Neville, who inadvertently became the reason they were all here in the first place. He’d seen Draco lurking after Harry and Hermione as they left the tower, and tried to warn them he was up to something. He had honourable enough intentions, though of course before he could manage his goal, he’d gotten all four of them caught. 

 

“Fine then; I get the dog,” Draco said, still annoyed at who he’d been partnered up with. He would’ve taken the boy-who-lived before Longbottom, or really just about any other student in the castle, except Weasley of course. 

 

“Sure, jus’ so ye know, Fang’s a bloody coward,” Hagrid added, unimpressed with the young Malfoy’s request. 

 

Draco’s shoulders dropped in resignation at his fate, determined he would be killed by something before the night was out, and Hermione cast him one last pitying look as he left with Longbottom. 

 

A few minutes after they’d separated, and after watching his partner jump at his shadow for what he’d counted to be the twenty-third time, he grabbed the boy’s arm in an effort to calm him down. Quite contrary to the reaction he’d hoped for, Neville panicked, sending red sparks up into the sky.

 

“Longbottom! Get a grip,” Draco hissed as Hagrid rushed forward with Harry and Hermione in tow. 

 

“He grabbed me,” Neville mumbled sheepishly, looking down at his feet, which he shifted over uncomfortably.

 

“Right.” Hagrid looked at the pair, eyeing Draco particularly suspiciously. 

 

The pairs were switched around, and Hermione noticed a twinge of irritation as she sent him another sympathetic glance. At least he wasn’t shaking, she wanted to say, more to see him actually, explode than anything else. Her entertainment at his expense was short-lived when she realized Draco’s half of the team was actually much more functional than her own. 

 

Now that Neville had joined them, they barely made it ten steps before they had to stop and wait for him to pick himself up off of the ground. She tried not to appear too skeptical for Longbottom’s sake, he really didn’t deserve the harassment Draco put him through, but it was a difficult task when the boy was shaking like a leaf and tripping over his own feet. 

 

She desperately wished that she’d been partnered with Draco, or had at least gotten to stay with Harry. As they wandered through the forest, their presence seemed absolutely hopeless. They were just five people and the unicorn could be anywhere, the odds of actually finding it were ridiculously low. She kicked a few stones out of her way, trying to keep a conversation going so she wouldn’t lose her mind to boredom before the night was out, but Neville’s chattering teeth made it rather difficult.

 

She gasped, suddenly much more alert when red sparks overhead caught her attention. “Hagrid!” she hissed, pointing. To her horror, the half-giant just chuckled.

 

“We’ve best be findin’ them—probably just Malfoy bein’ scared of his shadow.”

 

“Hagrid! They could be in real danger!” Hermione cried, upset that he was so casually brushing off their alarm signal. She was absolutely certain neither would cast the sparks unless it was absolutely vital, their pride wouldn’t let them.

 

“Right. We’ll—let’s be on our way, then.” He started casually walking towards them. Hermione tried to press them to go faster, but Neville kept falling, and Hagrid wouldn’t stop shrugging. Neither were willing to take the danger seriously. Finally, they came into sight of the boys.

 

"Harry! Draco! Are you alright?” Hermione’s voice cut through the forest, causing them both to snap their heads in her direction. 

 

Harry turned back towards Draco, having forgotten he was even there while the centaur spoke of the danger in the forest. The blonde boy shrugged at him, hoping to convey a much more nonchalant attitude towards the situation than he felt. Before they turned back towards her, Hermione had launched herself at them, hugging both boys, relieved that they appeared unharmed. Hesitantly, they each returned the gesture. When she pulled away she seemed to realize what she’d done.

 

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked at Draco, mentally hitting herself for the poorly thought through action. 

 

When Draco looked neither displeased nor averse to her actions, Harry stared suspiciously at him, utterly perturbed by his lack of reaction. It was pushed to the back of his mind, to be forgotten, however, at the thought of much more pressing matters: Voldemort's attempt to return to life. 

 

“I’ll talk to you soon,” Draco whispered, squeezing her arm as he walked past Hermione into the castle. Their hectic evening finally over, they were all eager to get back to their dorms. 

 

The two Gryffindor boys talked rapidly on their journey back, mostly cursing Malfoy for interfering, but Hermione stayed silent. She couldn’t help but go over Draco and Harry’s expressions in the forest, wondering what had scared them that badly.

 

“Pig snout,” she said absentmindedly. 

 

Crawling through the portrait hole after it opened, closely followed by Harry and Neville, she quickly walked towards the dormitory stairs, eager to write to Draco. Before she got very far, Harry intercepted her.

 

“Hermione, I’m going to go get Ron. I really need to talk to the two of you,” he said quietly, as soon as Neville was out of earshot. 

 

“Alright, Harry, I’ll be back in a minute, I just need to use the loo.” 

 

Hermione ran up the stairs, but rather than turn towards the washrooms, she went straight for the journal to let Draco know she would be a while. After a couple quick messages, she returned down the stairs to find Harry and Ron. Sitting in front of the fire, Harry summarized to them everything that and occurred in the forest, appearing to have already told Ron how they ended up there. 

 

Her face ashen, Hermione stood up without a single comment once he’d finished. Bidding the boys goodnight, she hurried back to her dorm. She couldn’t even force a smile towards Lavender when the girl looked up from her book, Anne of Avonlea, to say goodnight.

 

_ Harry told me. _

 

_ That’s why no one can know we’re friends—My family supported him before he died. If he comes back…I think he’ll kill us if we don’t support him again.  _

 

_ I don’t know what to say… _

 

_ Believe me, I don’t either. What if he comes back? _

 

_ He won’t. _

 

_ He might. _

 

_ We should go to sleep. _

 

_ Meet me tomorrow? _

_ Not in the forest.  _

 

_ By the lake? _

 

_ Alright, I’ll let you know when I can get away. _

 

_ Goodnight, Hermione. _

 

_ Goodnight, Draco.  _

 

She put the book aside, and pulled a blank piece of parchment and a quill out of her trunk, needing to quiet her fears.

 

_ Dear Cissa and Lucius,  _

 

_ Tonight was awful. Truly awful in every sense the word can describe although the silver lining is the dragon is gone. A boy in my house took it upon himself to warn Harry and I that Draco was going to tell on us. Hah! Then, he was caught, and got Draco, Harry, and I caught as well. He meant well, I tell myself. We served detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest, and I have to wonder why go through the trouble of naming it ‘forbidden’ if you’re going to be sending students alone in there anyways? _

 

_ Draco was paired with Neville while Harry and I left with Hagrid in the search of an injured unicorn, but Neville hates Draco and is rather jumpy. He sent up sparks within the first ten minutes of us separating, then the groups were switched, Harry going with Draco instead of Neville. I didn’t see them for about another hour when we found them after they sent up sparks. When we got there, a centaur named Firenze was with them, standing near the body of a dead unicorn. It was a horrible sight on its own, but once we got back to the castle, Harry told me what he and Draco saw before we got there. I’m sure he’ll be much more thorough. _

 

_ Voldemort was in the forest, drinking the unicorn’s blood to stay alive. The centaur confirmed it, well, sort of anyway. He found a way to come back. Draco told me that’s the reason we can’t be friends in public, because he might come back, and you’ll have to work for him again if he does.  _

 

_ I’m so afraid. I’m supposed to be brave, but I’m not. I’m terrified.  _

 

_ Please tell me something happy. _

 

_ Love, _

 

_ Hermione _

 

_ Curfew be damned,  _ she thought to herself rebelliously as she got out of bed to walk over to the Owlery, resolutely clutching her letter in one hand, and her wand in the other. She would write to her parents, Dora, Andy, and Ted tomorrow, but she needed to send this particular letter tonight. 

She would take another detention if she had to. 

 

The common room was empty, something she was thankful for as she slipped outside the portrait, but her luck ran out two turns later when, for the second night in a row, she found herself face to face with an irate Professor McGonagall. 

 

“Haven’t you already had a long enough night, Miss Granger?” she asked, surprised to see her favourite pupil outside past curfew again after the detention, and more particularly with all the trouble, the girl had been given by her peers.

 

“That’s the problem. I just need to send a letter.” Hermione looked at her feet, ashamed that she was disappointing her favourite professor again.

 

“Surely it could’ve waited until tomorrow morning!” her professor insisted. “Why don’t you head back to your dormitory, and I will post it for you. To your parents I presume?” she asked kindly.

 

“I appreciate it, Professor, but I really need to send it myself,” she replied stubbornly. 

 

Minerva was caught off guard, wondering who the girl could be writing to that she felt she personally had to mail the envelope. “Miss Granger, I insist. Either let me post the letter tonight, or you may wait until tomorrow morning. Students are not to be out of bed past curfew,” she said a little more resolutely.

 

“Voldemort was in the forest!” Hermione all but cried. Her exhaustion and fear leading her to be far more outspoken towards her professor than she would’ve been otherwise. “I just want someone to tell me everything’s going to be alright. And that he won’t come back. And that I’m safe.” 

 

Tears started rolling down her cheeks, causing the older woman to stiffen somewhat. 

 

“Miss Granger, why don’t you come sit in my office for a while, and I’ll get you a cup of tea,” she said. “You can use my owl and post your letter yourself.”

 

Hermione sat with Minerva for almost an hour after sending her letter. While curious who the letter was destined for, she refrained from asking the question. Hermione repeated to her the story she’d heard from Harry earlier, causing Minerva significant distress. Not only was the most dangerous wizard in history currently hiding in the school’s forest, but she’d sent students into the 

forest not four hours ago. No longer feeling able to provide the reassurances the girl had wanted, despite her best efforts to, she accompanied her back to the common room entrance.

 

Minerva’s owl arrived before the regular morning post, carrying a thick envelope with her student’s name written elegantly across the front and a small package. Minerva stared at the writing for a few moments. She had seen it before, it had belonged to a student she held in particular disdain. He had been top of his class, prefect, then Head Boy, but she hated every Outstanding she was forced to give him. 

 

The writing belonged, without a doubt, to Lucius Malfoy. She tried to mask her disapproval when Hermione picked up the delivery in her office before breakfast. It was shocking enough to have seen Hermione and Draco on friendly terms, but Hermione, her Muggle-born, Gryffindor student writing to Lucius Malfoy was quite another thing.

 

Oblivious to the older woman’s discovery, Hermione thanked her warmly for allowing her to borrow her owl the night before, and set back off to her dormitory to open them in private while her housemates were still at breakfast. She started with the box. 

 

Inside was a bracelet, a thick, yet somehow delicate, gold chain knotted in a way only goblin magic can do. The perfect braid was interrupted by a small crest, a rather scary looking one if she looked closely enough. A skull and banner topped it, reading ‘the noble and most ancient house of black’. Underneath it she could make out crows and an arm holding a wand. She placed it carefully next to her and opened the envelope, two letters came out. She read the one from Cissa first.

 

_ Dear Hermione, _

 

_ I’m sure you’re wondering about the bracelet, I’ll get there soon. _

 

_ I wish I would tell you all will be well, but Lucius and I don’t believe it ourselves, which is why we’ve gone through so much trouble to protect Draco should the Dark Lord come back. All I can say with certainty is that I believe he’ll be gone one day and that our lives will finally be a little more free. Until then, I’ve been thinking about everything you’ve told me you go through at school because of blood-status, and with the letters I got from you and Draco last night, Lucius and I are more concerned than ever for both of you.  _

 

_ I only met you for a week, but combined with yours and Draco’s letters, I care a great deal about your safety. The bracelet is a family heirloom, I hope you’ll do me the honour of wearing it, despite the…unfortunate…connections my family had and has.  _

 

_ Lucius and I placed a great deal of spells on it to protect you, in addition to the ones already in place. It’ll help us sleep a little easier. I know they wouldn’t hold up in a situation like my son and Potter found themselves in yesterday, but it will protect you, at least partially, from many darker spells. To ease your concern, I doubt that anyone would recognize the crest unless they looked at it closely. Especially in your House, I’m sure it could be passed off as a Muggle bracelet. _

 

_ You asked to hear something happy, so I will fill the next few pages with escapades from my time at Hogwarts, hoping you will find them diverting… _

 

Narcissa filled two more pages, front and back with anecdotes of her youth. Tears filled Hermione’s eyes as she finished the letter, pulling the bracelet onto her wrist. She looked at it and her heart flared with love for the woman who was trying so hard to make her feel better, even though they had, as she’d pointed out, interacted for only a very short time. She unfolded the second letter which, by the writing, she knew was from Lucius.

 

_ Dear Hermione, _

 

_ I wish to add my own sentiments to Cissa’s- please wear the bracelet, and stay safe. The letters you and Draco sent were quite alarming. I will tell you what I told Draco: stay away from the forest, although I think that could go unsaid. If you are asked to go there for any reason, by any professor, refuse. If they insist, contact me or Cissa, or have the Headmaster do so. It’s unacceptable that students be put in danger that way. _

 

_ Part of me wishes I could disclose to you the reason we were involved in all this, but forgive me, I can’t. Whatever happens, I hope you know that I always have my family’s best interests and safety in mind and that we will do our best to protect you as well. _

 

_ Lucius _

 

She read the letter twice, before storing it, and Cissa’s, carefully with the others, in a box inside her trunk. Sitting on the bed, she stole a quick glance at the clock and realized Lavender and the others would be back from breakfast soon. Prepared for her day since the trip she’d made to Professor McGonagall’s office, she decided to start a letter to Dora before class. 

 

 


	8. A Breaking Point

Sweat soaked, Hermione woke short of breath over an hour before she usually did. Nightmares of an unknown, blank-faced, evil man—Voldemort—set on destroying her and her parents plagued her. 

 

Very much awake after sitting up, her heart pounded as though she’d just finished a race. The images faded quickly, but the feelings of utter terror lingered. Thankfully her imagination didn’t have much to draw from, but she had read enough about the first war to scare her. 

 

Since it would be hopeless to try and sleep again, she cracked open her curtains and rummaged through her trunk for a book—anything to distract herself from being afraid. An hour later when 

the girls could be heard climbing out of bed and exchanging tired, grumbled words, Hermione pulled back the curtains to join in their sleepy conversation. 

 

“Godric you look awful, Hermione!” Parvati cried, rushing to her side. 

 

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically, casting the girl a glare disproportionate with the cause.

 

“I only meant it doesn’t look like you slept much,” she muttered a little sheepishly.

 

“I really didn’t. I woke up a few times and couldn’t fall asleep again,” Hermione admitted, leaving out the part about her nightmares. 

 

Fighting a yawn as she stood up, she dug out a comb and hair tie, then sat on her bed, plaiting her hair like Cissa had shown her to over the holidays. 

 

Sensing Hermione didn’t want to talk about whatever had caused her not to sleep, Lavender jumped into the conversation.

 

“Did you hear Cho Chang and Jeremy Stretton were holding hands yesterday?” she supplied, causing Pavarti and a now suddenly much more awake Katie to squeal and turn to her, begging for details. She winked at Hermione, receiving a relieved smile in return. 

 

Since she and Lavender had struck up a friendship, things had started going much more smoothly with the other Gryffindor girls. While she was still defensive around them, as though half expecting them to turn on her at any moment, glimpses of times where she was happy with herself were becoming more frequent.

 

It was—different, she’d concluded. A good different. She had, first and foremost, Draco as her best friend, the Tonks and Malfoy families who accepted her into their little world with open arms. Then there was Harry, dear, sweet, loyal-to-a-fault-Harry, Lavender whom she bonded with over a secret, and even others. Pavarti, Ron, and Katie were all willing to sit with her in class, and exchange a snide comment or two at their peers’ expense, even if it did annoy her to no end to have her learning interrupted by them. 

 

Enough was enough, however. There really was only so much one could take. By the time the girls had walked down to the Great Hall, they were still talking about Cho and Jeremy, causing Hermione to make her escape as quickly as she could to sit with the boys. 

 

The drivel she’d had to listen to had been bad enough that she was almost relieved to hear Ron prattle on about the Chudley Cannons. Harry obviously hadn’t figured out there was, quite literally, no hope at all for the team, since he listened faithfully to Ronald, nodding when appropriate. Or maybe he was just a better friend than she was, she mused while considering drowning herself in her cereal.

 

“Would you stuff it, Ronald? The Cannons are the most useless team in the league. Even I’ve figured that out,” she snapped after a few more minutes of what was rapidly turning into a passionate rant.

 

“They are not! It’s just a slump,” he defended loudly, angry that she’d dared insult them, and him, by extension, for supporting them.

 

“I am not debating Quidditch with you, Weasley,” she muttered, then tried to tune him out as he proceeded to rant at her. 

 

She ate her toast dispassionately, shooting him the occasional glare and wishing she’d sat with Lavender instead, or at least had Harry as a buffer between them. The dark-haired boy actually still seemed to be listening to Ron, making Hermione question if she was missing something—was there something actually redeemable about him? Her conclusion was no, evidently Harry was even more starved for friendship than she was.

 

“The Cannons, Weasley?” a voice drawled behind them. “I knew your family had no standards, but even that’s pushing it.” On queue, Crabbe and Goyle snickered from each side of him.

 

“You shut up about my family, Malfoy!” Ron yelled, grabbing his wand off of the table, he raised it towards Draco.

 

“Calm down, Ronald. He’s just goading you,” Hermione said, unsure who to be annoyed at. 

 

Her head was killing her, and Draco had saved her from what would have been another half an hour instalment of ‘the one hundred and one reasons the Cannons aren’t a lost cause’. The jibe at Ronald’s family had been uncalled for, for all she knew they could be perfectly lovely people, and it was mean of him to bring them into it—Percy Weasley excluded. Despite Ron’s comments that she reminded him of the older boy, she found him even marginally more annoying than Ron himself.

 

“You’re taking his side?” Ron’s voice raised even further. 

 

It might have been a bit intimidating, but it cracked and the entire effect was lost. Hermione bit back a smile while the three Slytherins openly laughed at him.

 

“Hermione isn’t taking anyone’s side,” Harry stated faithfully, and Hermione felt another small surge of what might have been guilt. “Go bother someone else, Malfoy,” he snarled. 

 

In a mock defensive gesture, Draco raised his hands. “Fine, fine—I know when I’m not wanted. Enjoy your company, Potter,” he said, his gaze flicking to Weasley and lips curling in disgust before they quirked back into a smirk as he sauntered off.

 

Hermione dragged herself through the day, only managing to keep herself awake by redoubling the effort with which she shot her hand up into the air to answer questions. They were thorough and on point as usual, but sounded more like she was reading directly from the textbook than ever. 

 

Professor Snape was particularly heartless as he took thirty points away from her for ‘the least insightful response to a question’ he had ever, apparently, received. She scratched a few bitter lines in her journal afterwards, resulting in a few more House points lost. Rather than participate for the next hour of class, she contented herself to slump in her chair and glare daggers at Snape.

 

When the gruelling lesson finally ended, the students jumped up, rejuvenated by the thought of food and freedom. Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked out of the lesson together, all silently stewing over the injustice. 

 

It seemed as though Snape had a particular vendetta towards Harry and Hermione, though she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. He’d been on their case since the first lesson, asking Harry questions he couldn’t possibly have known the answers to, and sneering at her for knowing them and wanting recognition for it.

 

“You know, you could have just kept your mouth shut, Hermione,” Ron said, after a long silence. 

 

She looked at him, searching for some sign that he wasn’t blaming her for losing the points. 

 

“I mean, it kinda is your fault he took away points,” he clarified. Her jaw dropped.

 

“Ron! That’s a terrible thing to say,” Harry supplied.

 

“Have you ever won Gryffindor any house points, Ronald?” she hissed, ignoring Harry, though she was quite thankful he’d stuck up for her.

 

“Of course, I have!” he cried out defensively.

 

“When? Tell me one time, other than the five you got for the troll.” 

 

He gulped, nervous under her glare as he searched his mind for an example of what she was looking for. Before he could find one, Hermione was long gone.

 

She sat on a rock by the lake. It was her rock by the lake. She loved that particular spot. It was far away from everything in the castle, the people, the pressure, the fear. No one came out here, particularly not during lunch, so while her stomach growled in protest, she enjoyed her peace. 

 

The tears she’d held back earlier fell, but she wiped them angrily away. It wasn’t right that they let her feel like this—Eleanor Roosevelt said ‘no one can make you feel inferior without your consent’, but she wasn’t consenting! How could she not feel inferior when everyone told her she was. 

 

_ Not everyone _ , a soft voice whispered in the back of her mind. She pictured her parents smiling at her when she got off the train, Draco grinning as he caught her with a snowball, Dora cheering her on when she played Quidditch, Cissa helping her with her homework, Lavender prattling on to her about whatever thing had caught her fancy that specific week, Harry defending her regardless if she deserved it—people cared about her. 

 

It was strange that she’d never really considered it before, but that’s when it really dawned on her, people cared about her. She repeated it a few times in her mind, as though sounding it out. They didn’t care about her because they had to or someone made them, like when she was younger- they just liked her. They actively sought out her company because they enjoyed it. Did it really matter if Ronald was annoyed she’d lost a few House points? 

 

Her spirits were soaring when she made her way back to the castle; her newfound realization causing her to walk with her head a little higher. As she made her way towards the closest doors, she spotted three third-year boys arrogantly lounging against the wall—Gryffindors, she noted, vying for the attention of the fourth-year girls nearby.

She walked a little more quickly, trying to get past them before she caught their attention for the wrong reasons. It was too late, though, or maybe her speeding up had the opposite effect from what she’d intended. She saw one of them nod towards her, smirking at his friends. 

 

Call out a few insults and let me be, she thought. They were Gryffindor, she told herself, her own Housemates weren’t likely to hurt her.

 

“Granger! I heard you were the one who lost us thirty points this morning. Didn’t do enough damage two days ago?” one called out, his mouth curled into a sneer. 

 

Hermione didn’t turn her head, just picked up more speed as she made her way to the door.

 

“Expelliarmus!” he called out, catching her wand fly out of her hand. 

 

Hermione turned around to look in horror at the boy who’d attacked her. She heard the other boys snicker. She wasn’t far from the door—if she could only get inside, maybe she could get away. When the boy holding her wand called out over his shoulder to the other two, she made a mad dash for it. The handle was within reach when she felt herself get hit with a second spell. She didn’t know what exactly hit her, but within moments of feeling it on her back, she was hoisted up into the air as though by an invisible rope tied around her ankles. 

 

She let out a cry and grabbed the bottom of her jumper to keep it covering her stomach. The only silver lining she could find was that she’d been wearing pants under her school robes—something she would do for the rest of her school career, she vowed in that moment. 

 

“Get the hell away from me, you lunatics!” she snarled, suddenly angry, rather than afraid.

 

“Oh tut-tut, Granger—your stupid mouth is the reason we’re almost out of points in the first place. Let’s help clean it for you. Scourgify.” 

 

She tasted soap and felt bubbles come out of her mouth. Spitting and coughing, she cleared it enough to speak again.

 

“Oh, don’t you lot think you’re clever—pick on first year Mudblood Granger because you can because she lost a couple House points. It’s pathetic! You are pathetic. Enjoy the feeling of power, because this is the only taste you’ll ever have of it.” She spat out more soap, gagging slightly at the taste. “Is this really the best you can do?” she yelled. 

 

The boy enraged that she would dare make a fool out of him, raised his wand to cast another spell, but found himself hit by a disarming spell from the side. He turned to yell at whoever had the nerve to interrupt him, but the words caught in his throat when he saw who it was. 

 

Severus Snape stood seething, and he honestly considered snapping the boy’s wand and being done with it. The scene had reminded him so much of his own torture at the hands of Hogwarts bullies; even the spells cast were the same. 

 

He helped the girl down, undaunted by the glare she shot his way. The girls who’d been watching, giggling at her misfortune, were long gone, but the three boys stood cowed, swallowing hard from fear at what the professor would do to them. 

 

The Gryffindor House points were bordering on the negative by the time he’d finished, and they had landed themselves in detention for the foreseeable future. Hermione glared between Snape and the boys—trust the Potions professor to sabotage her further after her humiliation. 

 

No one would blame the boys for the loss of points—it would entirely fall on her. All of her hard work over the year would be ruined because it didn’t matter that she still netted out at a loss of zero, considering she’d been the one to win most of them in the first place—it would be her fault they lost the House Cup, and to Slytherin no less. 

 

After the three had stalked off, glaring daggers at her all the while, she turned angrily to the Potions master.

 

“I hope that when someone finds me dead in a hallway you realize it’s your fault,” she said quietly, her voice dripping with a newfound venom. 

 

He looked surprised, causing her to scoff.

 

“I highly doubt you have to fear for your life, Miss Granger. Now you should be heading to class,” he said in a careful drawl.

 

“What?” she asked, incredulous. “Voldemort is in the forest, which I was sent into for detention. I’ve had a broken leg after being pushed down the stairs; broken ribs and a cracked skull from a run in with one of your students—after which, by the way, I had to drag myself to the infirmary, alone, even after a professor saw me. I’ve been jinxed, hexed, cursed, insulted, humiliated—literally the only thing that has kept me safe was that I had won more points than I’d lost and am friends with Harry Potter.” 

 

Hermione left, not waiting to hear anything her professor had to say. She missed seeing the little bit of color on his face drain away.

 

Frustration at her helplessness filled Hermione; it seemed like no matter what she tried, how hard she worked, there was no way to get ahead. A loud sigh escaped her lips, and she held on tightly to her wand, knowing that there was no way the trio who’d attacked her was going to let her get to class unscathed after what had happened. 

 

When a wand tip pressed hard into her back, she wondered why she even bothered to try. 

 

Again, they’d snuck up on her, but an idea crossed her mind. She doubted there was any way she was getting out of this unscathed, but she could cause a little damage. A wand wasn’t a knife or a gun- pressing herself back into it wouldn’t damage her, but it could certainly damage the small, thin wooden object. She closed her eyes, and before she could think the better of it, threw her weight back. 

 

She felt a sharp twinge of pain between her shoulder blades, but it was nothing compared to what she’d experienced earlier in the year. The satisfying ‘crack’ the wand made as it snapped left her feeling absolutely elated. While the boys were momentarily distracted, she turned around and cast a Petrificus Totalus, freezing a second. 

 

The third boy hadn’t reacted yet, but the leader who’s wand she’d snapped lunged at her. After stepping out of the way, she raised her fist, slamming it satisfyingly into his nose. The crunch as he dropped to the floor made her think—hope—that she’d broken it.

 

“Wimp,” she accused, trailing her wand on the third. “Do you really want to be beat by a first year too?” she asked, her voice falsely pleasant. 

 

A glimmer of fear crossed his face before he stood up taller, more resolute. 

 

“What a waste of bravery,” she seethed, then cast one of the nastier spells in her repertoire. 

 

A slicing hex cut him across the chest, not deep enough to do permanent damage or severely injure him, but deep enough that he would feel the pain for a few weeks unless he went to see Madam Pomfrey, something she doubted he would do considering the ramifications if it was found out how they’d ambushed her. Or worse that he’d been beaten by a first year. Satisfied they would leave her alone, at least for the rest of the day, she made her way to Transfiguration. 

 

There was something intensely satisfying about having been able to fend off her attackers alone for the first time, and when Professor McGonagall admonished her for her lateness she barely found it in her to hide her smile. She had succeeded even if only because they’d underestimated her. She knew she wouldn’t every time, but she would learn more spells, become more powerful, and make a name for herself until no one questioned her right to be at Hogwarts or anyone else’s for that matter. 

 

She wanted to fight for the other students who were bullied for their looks, for their blood, for being smart, or stupid. For the half-blood’s in Slytherin who likely had it just as bad as she did, to show the bigots who genuinely didn’t know better that they were wrong—whether they were in Slytherin or in Gryffindor. 

 

Feeling a renewed sense of purpose and control, Hermione didn’t even mind Parvati's mind-numbing prattle, or Ron’s usual Quidditch nonsense for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been pretty sporadic in my updates, but from now on you can expect a new chapter every Monday :)  
> Also changing is that rather than wrap up this story at ten chapters and work on a sequel, the first three or four years are going to be kept together as one story.


	9. Trust and Better Judgement

Year-end exams started creeping up on the students, and with only a few more weeks to go, many were caught off guard. Already reading well into her third year, Hermione was unconcerned with the difficulty of the material, but rather in a panic that she would forget everything she’d ever read as she sat down to write. The thought of doing poorly on her exams was terrifying. It would be validation for every hissed comment in the hallways, and every horrendous experience she’d had at Hogwarts. 

 

She doubled her efforts to study, usually working with Draco in a concealed, far corner of the library, reading carefully through her textbooks and practicing every spell with him until it was nearly second nature. More importantly, as the panic for the exams grew steadily, her panic for the Stone and its potential thief grew exponentially until suddenly, everything seemed perfectly clear.

 

“Oh Merlin’s beard, Draco,” she said, dropping the thick book she’d been reading onto the table. At the loud thunk, he looked up from his astronomy homework curiously. “Isn’t it a bit suspicious that what Hagrid wanted, more than anything in the world, was a dragon, and that some stranger happened to be carrying a dragon egg around by chance? I mean…it isn’t exactly something people just happen to have on them, is it?”

 

“He wanted to know how to get past Fluffy,” Draco said, eyes widening as he completed her thought. 

 

“I have to go tell Harry,” she gasped, getting up suddenly, quickly closing her books and putting them back on the shelf.

 

“Let me know if I can do anything.” he said. His voice was barely above a whisper as he looked up to where she was standing, eyes comically wide. 

 

She nodded as she packed up her books, then rushed out, all but running back to Gryffindor tower, leaving Draco alone with a sinking feeling of dread that she would do something rash.

  
  


After she spoke to them, the three young Gryffindors, lead by Harry, went bounding through the Hogwarts halls. Several twists and turns through the formidable building led them outside. In record time, though out of breath and exhausted, they made it to Hagrid’s hut.

 

"Hullo," Hagrid said with his characteristic gruff friendliness. 

 

Hermione felt a twinge of pity that, because of his naivety and, arguably, greed, the well-meaning man had inadvertently caused the Stone to be in danger.

 

He invited them inside like he always did, but Harry cut him off before Ronald could accept the invitation. The interrogation that followed proceeded a little more rudely than Hermione thought was strictly necessary; it wasn’t as though the man was deliberately withholding information from them, or even aware that he had information to withhold. 

 

With each confused answer, Hagrid gave, she felt her heart drop a little more. It became obvious she had been right—he really had been set up.

 

"And did he -- did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Hermione finally interjected, a pained note in her voice. Swallowing hard, she anticipated his response.

 

"Well -- yeah -- how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep —" Hagrid seemed to realize what he’d just told them, apparently instantly regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

 

As soon as the words had slipped out, Harry rushed back towards the castle, dragging Ron and Hermione behind him with barely the time to give an apologetic smile to their large friend. 

 

Different courses of action swam through Hermione’s head; the most logical seeming to be, of course, going straight to Dumbledore with the information they’d gathered. As if the Fates were determined to sabotage them, or help them, depending on how it was looked at, they were stopped by Professor McGonagall moments after they’d stepped back inside. 

 

“What are you three doing inside?” she asked, confused as to why they wouldn’t be enjoying the particularly beautiful day like so many of their peers were doing.

 

”We want to see Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said.

 

"See Professor Dumbledore? Why?” she asked, perplexed by what business the three students might have with him. As far as she knew, none of them had ever even interacted with the elderly Headmaster before.

 

“We can’t tell you,” she heard Harry say. 

 

Wondering what on earth had possessed him to say that, Hermione resisted the sudden urge to bury her face in her hands.

 

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she said coldly, evidently offended that whatever the problem was, her students didn’t trust her with it. “He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off to London at once."

 

"But this is important,” Harry insisted. 

 

Again, she wondered what he thought he was achieving by antagonizing their Head of House, or maybe worse still if he didn’t even realize he was.

 

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?” she asked, cocking her head in disbelief.

 

Hermione could tell McGonagall was exasperated with them and frustrated that her students were so blatantly refusing to talk to her. A small part wondered if some of it had been bottled up from her own refusal to share the name of whom she’d written to, but she quickly dismissed it. Not everything was about her, even less so when Harry Potter was involved. 

 

The conversation became even more tense, deteriorating rapidly as Harry lost patience. He’d been on edge since the earlier revelation, rightfully so, but it was a little jarring to see his temper flare at anyone in this way. Any thought of moderating the discussion left her upon seeing the Professor’s nostrils flare, and Harry’s eyes narrow; she really didn’t want to get between them. 

 

When Harry finally lost the last modicum of patience he had and told McGonagall they knew about the Stone. 

 

The change in her tone was sudden and drastic. She spluttered, looking for words as the magnitude of their knowledge hit her. If they knew about it, did anyone else?

 

"Professor, I think -- I know -- that Sn- that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore,” Harry stated, absolutely desperate to be believed.

 

The deputy’s head bristled, clearly weighing what the eleven-year-old had just told her. The three of them watched impatiently while she made up her mind about something, her features giving nothing away. Finally, she spoke carefully, letting them know that they shouldn’t worry. The Stone was incredibly well protected, and they could speak with the Headmaster when he returned the next day. 

 

Hermione saw the horror she felt displayed on her friends’ faces. After a few more protests on Harry’s part joined in by a chorus of Ron and Hermione, the Professor left them in the hallway with rapidly sinking hearts and a suggestion that they enjoy the weather.

 

Harry hatched together a terribly flawed plan to guard the Stone—sending Hermione to loiter outside the staff room and keep an eye on Snape while he and Ron supervised the third-floor corridor. Despite having agreed to it, there was no way it could work. After weeks of planning they had still ended up in detention over the dragon delivery; now with about two minutes of thought, it seemed unlikely they could thwart an adult wizard. Especially one desperate enough to try and revive Lord Voldemort. 

 

From her excuse to stand by the teacher’s lounge, to what she would do on the off chance Snape did come out, she could freely admit that there was very little sound judgment in what she was going to attempt.

 

Separated from her friends and lurking by the staff room while they went to the third-floor corridor was a boring task. She felt like she’d been waiting hours, contemplating the many horrors of what would happen if McGonagall was wrong and the Stone wasn’t safe when Professor Snape finally walked out the door.

 

“Miss Granger, are you looking for someone?” he asked through gritted teeth. 

 

Still angry with him for the way he’d handled her tormentors, and more than a little afraid, she was barely able to force out, over the turmoil of emotion, that she’d been waiting for Professor Flitwick. 

 

He didn’t miss the hatred lacing every word she spoke towards him. It caused something oddly like remorse to bubble up inside him, no doubt because of the glimpse into how she was treated  by her peers. “I’ll ask him to come out and speak to you,” he said in the same low drawl he used in class, turning back on his heels to find the other professor. 

 

Flitwick was thrilled to talk to her when he was called out, prattling on about her proficiency in charms, and how she’d received the highest score on his exam that he’d seen anyone achieve in his teaching career. It would have been rather flattering, but the thought of her failure to trail Snape clouded her mind. Not to mention the potential return of the most dangerous wizard alive. She was immensely relieved when she was finally able to make her escape.

 

Minutes later, after a mad dash back to the common room, which earned her more than a few stares, she rushed into the common room, practically wailing when she saw Harry.

 

“I’m so sorry! Snape asked me why I was there, but when I was talking to Professor Flitwick he left…I couldn’t get away. I have no idea where he went.” 

 

It had been a mad plan, but she still felt terrible that she hadn’t somehow managed to make it work.

 

"I'm going out of here tonight, and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first,” Harry stated after a few moments of silence. 

 

"You're mad!" Ronald declared, voicing her exact thoughts on the subject. 

 

Hermione just gaped at him, waiting for him to say something that made more sense than, ‘I’m going to try to get the Stone first’, perhaps he would start to laugh—though it was hardly a joking matter. Alternatives to what he suggested flickered through her mind. She wondered if she might be able to get a letter to the Malfoys in time. If Lucius showed up and spoke to McGonagall about the Stone, surely that would get some attention. It was a lovely idea, but an owl wouldn’t make it to Wiltshire until much later that evening.

 

“Harry, look—I know you want to help. I understand, I really do—but what can we possibly do against Snape if he is already there?” 

 

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, she realized belatedly. Harry exploded. Not the literal kind of explosion, despite it being much more likely in the wizarding world than the Muggle world, but it may as well have been. The usually kind, sweet-tempered boy she’d become friends with was replaced by someone else entirely. 

 

“Of course, I know it will be bad if Voldemort comes back!” she cried in frustration, cutting him off in his tirade. Thoughts of dragging herself to the hospital wing because of her blood status, even now, in a time of supposed peace, flashed through her mind. 

 

“Well then don’t you dare stop me!” he yelled back. 

 

Her eyes narrowed—Voldemort had killed his parents, had tried to kill him. It made sense that he wanted to prevent his return, but it was beyond optimistic that he could stop Snape. It just didn’t make sense.

 

"I'll use the invisibility cloak," Harry said grimly, as though preparing to march to his death. 

 

He could be, the terrifying truth echoed in her mind.

 

”But will it cover all three of us?" Ron asked. 

 

Had she heard him correctly? Hermione had not signed up for the death mission Harry was intent on embarking on. She couldn’t even defend herself against a fourth year, let alone a professor, and she was certain the boys couldn’t either. There was only so much you could get through on nerve alone.

 

“No, Ronald—the three of us are not going. The two of you mean well, but you have to see that it’s not going to end well if you go after him! Snape is a very powerful wizard and if he’s trying to bring back Voldemort, I don’t think he’ll be against killing you both. We need to come up with another plan to let Dumbledore know that it’s in danger,” she said as firmly as she could. 

 

Harry glared while Ronald looked betrayed. 

 

“You can’t stop us from going,” he said defiantly. 

 

She let out a frustrated sigh. Short of petrifying them, she really couldn’t.

 

She tried to reason with them, but Harry glared at her in an uncharacteristically dark way. Cutting off her speech, he pulled the cloak over Ron and himself. She stood, and watched the patch of the common room where they had been only moments before. She didn’t move, still holding a candle of hope that they might come to their senses and think of a better way to approach this. It wasn’t until she watched the portrait swing open, then shut, presumably behind them that she kicked herself into action. 

 

She dug through her bag for her journal and sat herself down at the nearest table to write to Draco. She needed to think of something, there was no other option—her friends’ lives were on the line. 

 

Without wasting another minute, she pulled out a scrap of parchment and loosely explained the situation to Lucius. Folding the parchment, she made a mad dash for the Owlery, where Draco would be meeting her to send it off with his owl. With any luck, he would be at the Ministry with Dumbledore.

 

It was a lost cause to speak with McGonagall, she’d made her thoughts on the situation perfectly clear when she spoke with the trio earlier, and any of the other professors would defer to her judgment. 

 

Beyond the letter, the blonde and brunette sat with their backs against the wall, searching for anything else that they might do. They could think of nothing, short of following the two boys into their suicide mission. Both agreeing that it would do very little good for them to follow, they chose to instead to stay where they were and wait impatiently for any news. 

 

Fifteen minutes of sitting in the chilling night air and neither of them could stop from shivering. Draco stood, offering a hand to Hermione to help her up. 

 

“Let’s go back to the castle. Freezing to death won’t do us any good…” He took her hand and they walked back, huddled close together in the cover of darkness.                

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Just wanted to give the usual thanks and (painfully obvious) disclaimer that I own absolutely nothing recognizable.
> 
> I feel that this chapter was too short, and completely underwhelming...I'm really sorry for that. I absolutely agonized over what I would do with the stone, and wrote out a dozen versions of this (I'm trying not to think too hard that this was the best that came out of that). In canon, Hermione is unfailingly loyal to her two best (and only) friends, and just naive enough to think chasing after whoever is trying to steal the stone could end well for them. I feel like with everything she's gone through, there's no way she would think that here.
> 
> I hope I haven't lost any of you! Next up we see the aftermath of Harry and Ron's mission, a bit more of Snape, and the final few days before summer :)


	10. Year 1--Defining Bravery

Ronald was healed by the next morning, and Harry was alone when she went to check on him in the hospital. It was a good thing too because he made a point not to speak with her since she’d refused to go after the Stone with them. 

 

She sighed. Apparently news of their escapades had gotten around the school, because there was an ungodly amount of sweets at Harry’s bedside. Even if it was mostly sorted and organized, it was a wonder Madam Pomfrey had allowed it...although it would be nice for Harry to wake up and see people had been worried for him. 

 

She reached over to clear off some room on the chair for herself, and noticed, to her horror, that it was stacked with chocolate frog wrappers. No frogs, no cards—just the wrappers. Ronald was daft, but he wouldn’t actually eat his unconscious friend’s chocolate, would he? Harry wouldn’t mind, of course, he probably wouldn’t even know to mind, but that really wasn’t the material point. The sweets were meant for Harry, and Ronald should have asked. 

 

It didn’t matter, though, Ron was the one who’d enabled him on his quest to save the world. It was a bitter thought. After sitting at his side for a couple hours, she’d finished reading yet another book. Hermione stood up, somewhat reluctantly, giving a final squeeze to Harry’s hand and asking him to wake up soon before going to meet Draco in their now guaranteed Voldemort-free clearing.

 

“I told you it wasn’t Snape,” Draco said, after a few moments of silence when they’d landed, looking at her curiously to see what her reaction would be. 

 

Quirrell had been, after Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Sprout, the last person they would have expected to be in league with Voldemort. Not only did he appear to be a coward, but he also spent years as a Muggle Studies Professor—preaching tolerance. It gave her a twisted sense of satisfaction to know he was dead. After he left her in the hallways knowing she was seriously injured, she couldn’t find it in herself to feel any sympathy.

 

“I know,” she snapped at him, turning away when she felt her cheeks burn. 

 

She went to sleep angry about prejudice, angry that people saw her as less than a person. She was angry that they hated her because she had buck-teeth, bushy hair, and a bit of acne; she was angry that they saw her as a Mudblood rather than as a twelve-year-old girl—but she’d done the same thing to Professor Snape. 

 

He was undoubtedly not a pleasant person, but she’d assumed the worse from him based entirely on appearances. Because he wasn’t an attractive man, had greasy hair, didn’t particularly like teaching, and, perhaps most shamefully, because he was in Slytherin, she had jumped to the conclusion that he was evil. Her best friend, the first person who made her feel like it was alright to be Hermione—not Hermione Granger, not a witch, not a Muggle, just Hermione and all that entailed, was in Slytherin. 

 

The person who did everything he could to keep his more malevolent Housemates and peers away from her, was in Slytherin. The only person who knew how bad things were for her, who snuck into the hospital wing to see her, was in Slytherin. Her best friend was a Slytherin, but she’d decided he was a ‘good’ Slytherin- an exception. Like how she knew a lot of people saw her as a good Mudblood- an exception. 

 

“I’m so embarrassed,” she said, looking back at him. Tears were starting to cloud her vision.

 

“It’s alright, Hermione,” he said, pulling her into a hug where they were both now seated. She saw the look he was giving her, concern mixed with confusion. He hadn’t seemed to realize what was bothering her.

 

“It’s really not—I’m just as bad as they are,” she said, pulling back. 

 

Now he caught on to what was upsetting her. “No—you aren’t. You never instigate anything, you don’t bully people just because they exist.”

 

“It doesn’t matter—that’s not the point.”

 

“Yeah, Hermione, it sort of is. Look, you’re going to go confess to Snape that you thought he was trying to steal the Stone, and apologize for assuming it was him. He’ll sneer at you, take away House points, but you’ll have apologized.” he smiled at her, teasing, “Get to keep that Gryffindor moral high ground.” 

 

She nodded, curling up closer to her friend and crying for a little while longer. She didn’t even know why she was crying, in particular, just that she needed to, and it felt better.

 

She walked to the dungeons a few hours later, Draco trailing her to make sure she didn’t run into any trouble, with all the signs that she’d been crying still evident on her face. Facing the door to Professor Snape’s office, it took every last ounce of determination and pride she had not to turn around and run away. 

 

Her hands shook slightly as she raised a fist to knock. When she finally did steal herself to, she hit the door, just hard enough so she would be heard, three times. For a few moments, she thought maybe she’d been spared further humiliation and that the professor wasn’t there at the moment, but the door swung open to the man scowling down at whoever deigned to waste his time. 

 

She gulped when she saw him, but otherwise didn’t say anything, bile practically rising up into her mouth from nerves.

 

“Miss Granger,” he said, not able to keep the surprise out of his voice. “You may step in if you would like.” 

 

He returned to his seat on the other side of the desk, where a large stack of essays was sorted into piles. She walked in hesitantly, sitting down at the seat opposite him, hands tucked under her legs so she wouldn’t fidget.

 

“I wanted to…” she squeaked, looking down quickly. 

 

He still didn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue, “I wanted to apologize,” she said finally, the last part barely croaked out.

 

“Apologize for what, Miss Granger?” he asked, genuinely perplexed as to what the girl possibly had to be sorry for.

 

“I—well we thought—wethoughtyouweretheonetryingtostealtheStone.” It came out in an incoherent garble, and the professor looked more perplexed than ever.

 

She took in a deep breath, trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice. “We thought you were trying to steal the Stone. It was a horrible thing to think, and I should know more than anyone that it was a stupid assumption to make.”

 

“I accept your apology, Miss Granger,” he said after a minute of silence, surprising her completely. 

 

Not only had he accepted her apology, but he’d done so without a sneer, scowl, or mean comment. 

 

“Why do you think you should know more than anyone else?” he asked, again driven by genuine curiosity.

 

“Well—I’ve been harassed by people in all four Houses. Slytherins are supposed to be cunning but look at Crabbe and Goyle. Ravenclaws are supposed to be intelligent but look at Marietta Edgecomb. Hufflepuffs are loyal but look at Zacharias Smith. Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, but I know I’m not. I can find people with ‘Gryffindor’ traits in Slytherin, and vice versa. We should be defined by two qualities based on what a hat decides when we’re eleven.” 

 

Snape watched her with growing respect, impressed that a twelve-year-old had picked up on something which he didn’t think most adult witches and wizards had. He couldn’t count the number of people who would scoff at her suggestion and even more impressed that she’d admitted to being in the wrong to him.

 

“What Potter and Weasley did was one type of bravery, but one might also call it reckless. Potter may be, and will be, hailed a hero, make no doubt of that, but had you not stayed behind to get Dumbledore he might have died anyway. If Potter and Weasley had not gone after him, Quirrell would not have gotten the Stone because of a rather clever enchantment Dumbledore placed. 

 

In reality, for all their good intention, they placed it at risk. If it hadn’t been for blood magic invoked by Lil--” his voice cracked slightly, “--his mother’s death when he was a child, Potter would have died and Voldemort would have gotten the Stone because of his brave actions. Charging into an ill-judged battle may be brave, but it can be incredibly foolish. You, Miss Granger, are not foolish.” 

 

Snape stood, walking over to his bookshelf, he pulled down an old, leather bound copy of Tennyson’s poems, placing it on the desk before her. “Borrow the book over the summer; read ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’—I want to hear your opinion on it.” 

 

Hermione reached across the desk, taking the old, leather bound book. She found herself once again berating herself for feeling shock that Snape owned a book of Muggle poetry. 

 

“Thank you, Professor,” she said with a small smile. 

 

“Make no mistake, the hat wasn’t wrong in placing you in Gryffindor. You are an incredibly brave young witch. I think, considering the apology you made, it would only be fair if I made one as well. I have treated you poorly from the minute you stepped foot into my classroom, have never awarded you House points when they were deserved, and took them away for petty reasons. I am sorry, Miss Granger—one hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor.”

 

Hermione looked at the professor, expecting him to add something, or do just about anything in character enough for her to believe it was really him. After a moment, she realized she was being incredibly rude to a man who’d just apologized to her.

 

“Thank you, sir, and— I also accept your apology.”

 

“Don’t tell your Gryffindors I awarded the points—or they might expect me to hand them out in class,” he said with a rare smile. 

 

Hermione nodded, smiling as well as she left his office, the book he’d loaned her stowed away carefully in her bag.

 

**The Charge of the Light Brigade**

 

**Alfred, Lord Tennyson**

 

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!

"Charge for the guns!" he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

 

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Someone had blunder'd:

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

 

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred

 

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reel'd from the sabre stroke

Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

 

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

 

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honor the charge they made,

Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred.

 

“I’m glad you’re alright, Harry.” she said when she saw him walk into the common room later that evening.

 

“It was Quirrell,” he finally said.

 

“Yeah, I know…I feel silly for assuming it was Professor Snape.”

 

“But Hermione, he’s in Slytherin. Hagrid says—”

 

“I don’t care what Hagrid says, Harry. He’s wrong. We shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions; it wasn’t fair to him.”

 

“Since when has he been fair? It’s his own fault for acting suspicious.”

 

“No…Harry, it isn’t. Tell me though, what happened when you were in there?”

 

He began telling her about the defences surrounding the Stone, different puzzles defending it. First there was Fluffy, who was already put to sleep by music when they had arrived, next was a type of plant, which she could’ve identified as Devil’s Snare.

 

Since a good portion of it was already burnt through by Quirrell, Harry simply fell to the floor, lucky to break his wrist rather than his neck. Ron was slightly less so, and only managed to escape after Harry stomped on a tendril attempting to drag him towards the largest remaining clump of living vines. She’d overheard the Ginger Brat, as she’d taken to calling him with Draco, bragging about his injury to some of the other Gryffindor boys. It was  _ pathetic _ to think somehow nearly being killed by your own stupidity warranted bragging rights, but Dean and Seamus lapped it up.

 

They then had to play their way across a chessboard, which she was surprised to hear Ronald was good at—if only his aptitude for strategy seeped into the other parts of his life, like when they made the decision to actually go after the Stone. 

 

She kept her commentary to herself though, wanting to hear the rest of the story without upsetting Harry. The last part was the enchantment Professor Snape had mentioned—the one that Harry had allowed Quirrell to get past just by being there. Someone needed to look into the Mirror of The Erised and see the Stone, but not want to use it. Quirrell never would have obtained it, his greatest desire was to use it for Voldemort. 

 

She wanted to scold him, but it wasn’t her place to; their professors would see to it that he understood the consequences of his actions. The fact that he spent twenty-four hours in the infirmary would help.  

  
  


She was seething once again. Sitting at the Gryffindor table the next day, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter were awarded enough points to tie with Slytherin, then Neville Longbottom an extra ten to win the Cup. Neville hadn’t even done  _ anything _ ! After Snape had awarded her points, it had brought them up to an almost respectable third place, a little ways ahead of Hufflepuff, and that was the standing they deserved. 

 

Slytherin and Ravenclaw had worked much harder than they had all year, and as much as she wanted to win, it was Slytherin that deserved the Cup. It was blatant favouritism for Gryffindor, for the boy-who-lived, but her Housemates either didn’t care that it was a hollow victory or didn’t even recognize it. She wasn’t sure which was worse, weren’t Gryffindors supposed to prize nobility?

 

She knew Harry didn’t usually want the attention, but it didn’t mean he didn’t get it. Sometimes, like today, he even seemed to revel in it. It was a little painful, biding her time until the end of the feast. A fake smile was plastered on her face, good enough to fool Harry and Ronald, but definitely not good enough for Lavender or Draco. Finally free to leave, she sprung up from her seat to go to the Headmaster’s office.

 

“Lemon drop?” he asked when he saw her walk in, throwing her off a little.

 

“No, thank you, Headmaster,” she said, hiding her indignation as best she could.

 

“Harry told me about the enchantments on the Mirror—by going after it he put it in danger. Why would you reward him and Ronald for doing something like that?” she asked at length. 

 

It wasn’t a lie, Harry had, in fact, told her about the Mirror—she just wouldn’t have made the connection without Professor Snape pointing it out.

 

“Harry and Ronald showed exceptional bravery, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said with a small smile.

 

“Yes, they did, Professor, but they don’t understand that there could have been consequences if they hadn’t gotten lucky.”

 

“Miss Granger, are you saying this out of concern, or perhaps because you are jealous of the attention that the boys received?” 

 

Of course she was jealous—the two boys who had done very little in the way of reading or work had earned a combined hundred and ten House points for putting themselves and the wizarding world in danger, but that wasn’t why she was speaking with Dumbledore. He had shown blatant favouritism, which would result in even more hostility between the Houses—even an idiot could tell that.

 

“I’m saying this because you are alienating an entire quarter of the school by pitting Slytherin and Gryffindor against each other, showing favouritism for Gryffindor. I want to know why.” 

 

The older man chuckled—actually chuckled at her statement. 

 

“I believe you are making more out of this than it is, points were awarded based on merit, leading Gryffindor to win the House Cup. Good evening, Miss Granger” he dismissed with the same kind smile and chuckle. 

 

Slipping on a mask of indifference, she bid him a good evening as well, leaving in a far worse mood than when she’d arrived. She could see why the Malfoys disliked him so strongly. Suddenly, Lucius actively trying to have him removed from the school seemed like a reasonably noble purpose.

 

Despite her frustration with the boys, she rode in their compartment on the train back to London. Winning the house cup seemed to appease Ron, and he once again spoke to her with at least as much respect as he could usually muster. It would hardly make sense to find her own compartment, and they didn’t seem to mind that she spent the entire trip scribbling in her book.

 

“Look who it is, Perfect Potter and his pet Weasel,” Draco snarled into their compartment, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle. 

 

Hermione looked up at him, a disinterested look in her eyes. She knew he was upset with the last minute change in house standing, and, quite frankly, she couldn’t find it in herself to blame him. 

 

Ron snarled at him, pulling out his wand and threatening Draco. “Please, you couldn’t curse me if you tried. Can’t cast a spell, can’t brew a potion—are you sure you aren’t a squib?” he taunted.

 

“Get out, Malfoy,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she continued to write- an ongoing commentary about his insults and how he really could do better. 

 

If he was going to come interrupt her peace, he might as well be creative about it. After a few more jabs at Harry and Ron, he finally left. The door closing behind him queued the onslaught of insults towards Draco, then all of Slytherin house.

 

It was a relief to step off of the train at the end of the ride, after exchanging hasty goodbyes with the boys, she began scanning the platform for her mum and dad. When she saw them, she felt the first real smile she’d had the entire day take over her features. 

 

Hermione rushed towards them, dragging her trunk haphazardly behind her. Crossing the last few feet, she threw her arms around them.

 

“It’s good to be home,” she said quietly, an arm around each of her parents.

 

“We missed you,” her mother replied, planting a kiss on her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes year 1! Next up is summer.   
> Thanks for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting :)


	11. Family and Friends

The drive back to her muggle house in her muggle neighbourhood was oddly exciting, Hermione decided. Looking through the windows at various stores and landmarks which she grew up seeing, she couldn’t keep a goofy grin off of her face. 

 

When finally they pulled up in front of her house it wasn’t in any way grandiose like arriving at Hogwarts, there was no Black Lake or Forbidden Forest, but it was  _ home _ . Whatever its outward appearances, there was something just as magnificent about it as any magical castle or forest. 

 

Stepping out of her parent’s car, she nearly skipped up the driveway, loving the sight of her dad’s rosebushes in full bloom lining the pavement. Their fragrance was a bonus which she’d forgot she adored. Her mum followed close behind her, unlocking the door with jingling keys. 

 

As soon as the door was open, Hermione took off her shoes and tossed them, with a little less care than she usually showed, into the closet. She ran up to her room to throw herself on her bed. Her pictures, her books, and her CDs surrounded her, and almost as soon as she hit the soft duvet covered mattress, she bounded back up. Eagerly, she clamoured to the radio, switching it to her favourite station. Her father followed her up with her trunk, chuckling at his daughter’s antics. He glowed seeing his little girl so happy to be home. 

 

“Your mother has supper ready— spaghetti.” he said with a grin, and Hermione looked up, mirroring his expression. It was her favourite meal, and not something commonly found in the wizarding world, according to Draco, explaining why it was never served at Hogwarts.

 

Together, they walked back down the stairs with her rattling on about the sleepover that Lavender was planning on hosting. Her mother smiled warmly at her, simply happy that her daughter was happy. 

 

Nothing could mar their mood that day, and nothing even tried. After dinner, they went to the ice cream shop nearby, a very rare treat, then walked through the neighbourhood. The small family basked in the opportunity to be together again.

 

When Hermione finally got home that evening and went to her room for the night, she meticulously stowed the surprisingly large collection of books she’d accumulated from the Malfoys and Tonks on her bookshelf, put away her school robes in her closet, and then unpacked the box containing her letters and pictures. She pinned them up on the wall near her bed, smiling at the sight of her magical friends grinning and waving at the camera.

 

The next couple days were spent in bliss, going to museums, art galleries, and seeing a concert. In short, doing all the things they did as a family before Hermione got her Hogwarts letter. The Grangers decided to take two weeks holiday from the practice in honour of her return. The more time they could spend with their little girl, the better. They were carefully considering bringing up muggle school, although an opportunity had yet to present itself. 

 

The first hint of anything sour, at least for the elder Grangers, came with a very familiar owl. He arrived with an invitation to have dinner with the Tonks and Malfoy families on Sunday. Hermione was, of course, thrilled, and immediately ran off to write to Draco.

 

This left her parents at the dining room table, glaring at the letter which dared to intrude on the small paradise they were building with their child. They knew they were being a twinge unreasonable, at least when they forced themselves to consider it logically, but they thought they were doing a good job assimilating Hermione back into the muggle world until it arrived. The sheer joy on the girl’s face told them otherwise. With a sigh, Jean started to craft her reply to them, accepting the invitation as gracefully as she could bring herself to. 

 

The days leading up to Sunday, Jean and Richard, for want of a better term, sulked. Hermione was astonished by their change in attitude. She couldn’t think what caused them to act the way they did. It wasn’t that they were openly angry, or hostile, but they just seemed less enthusiastic about everything. It dampened her mood, but only slightly. She was still too elated to really care. Not only was she with her parents, but she would be seeing her best friend, his parents and the Tonks all very soon. 

 

“Draco, Dora!” She said, launching herself at both the blond haired boy, and pink haired girl standing in her doorway on Sunday afternoon.

 

“It’s good to see you, Hermione.” Dora said. They both hugged her back enthusiastically, and stepped into the house following her. When Dora caught sight of Hermione’s parents, she smiled and greeted them just as enthusiastically, and although their response was somewhat clipped, she continued ploughing through and carrying out a conversation. 

 

Draco was a few steps behind the girls, somewhat daunted by the idea of being in a muggle house. Unfamiliar appliances stared out at him, and he watched pictures move across a box behind the Grangers, absolutely mesmerized by what he could only assume was muggle magic. 

 

“I brought floo powder,” Dora said at length, “Draco and I apparated, but I thought it would be easiest to use your fireplace to travel.” she said, keeping a careful eye on the two muggles in the room to see how they would take it. When she noticed them about to object, she raised a hand. “It’s best just to show you how it’s done. Draco can go first with Hermione, then I can take you both.”

 

Very reluctantly, Richard nodded. 

 

Draco grabbed Hermione’s arm and dragged her to the fireplace, confidently dropping the dark powder around them and enunciating ‘Tonks Cottage’. When green flames flared around them, Hermione felt a moment of panic. She grabbed hold of his hand far more tightly than could have been comfortable. When suddenly the flames disappeared, she found she was in the living room fireplace of the Tonks residence with both sets of parents smiling at her.

 

Moments later, her own parents followed with Dora. They were clearly petrified with what just happened. For well over a minute, they were too busy staring at the fireplace and mumbling about magic to properly greet their hosts. When they finally composed themselves, not hearing Lucius’s muttered comment about muggles, they each held out their hands and made introductions, giving the bottle of wine they brought along to Andromeda. 

 

Hermione and Draco stayed with the adults for a while, she had a lot she wanted to catch up with the two families. While Narcissa entertained the Grangers, Ted and Andy were both eager to hear about the second semester of the kids’ first year at Hogwarts, and Lucius was happy to talk about the books him and his wife sent her, although it was in his usual stoic, aloof manner. 

 

Eventually, her and Draco split off from the group to go for a walk outside in the forest at the back of the property.

 

Hermione halted them suddenly in front of a tree, looking at it pensively. “Have you ever seen a tree house?” she asked.

 

“A what?” he asked, clearly confused.

 

“Some muggle kids build small cabins..more like platforms in trees. I’ve always dreamed about having one…” she said, still eyeing the tree. It was clear to Draco that she was starting to make a plan as her expression changed from something resembling nostalgia to determination. 

 

“I’m sure whatever we built would be superior to what a muggle could build.” he said, grinning at her. “Come on, let’s go plan how we’re going to do this.”

 

They decided to avoid discussing it in front of their parents until they were ready to actually build it, or, preferably, until they were done building it. They both had a small, nagging fear that they would be prevented from following through their new plan. Hermione was certain what her parents would think of her trying to build a magical treehouse, but as to the other four adults, neither could even begin to think of what kind of reactions they might have. 

 

Violent objections, grudging support…delaying it seemed better either way. Regardless, they had yet to decide on the best placement for it. Obviously, Hermione’s muggle backyard was not ideal. It was too small, never mind that they couldn’t do magic there. If it was at Dora’s house, then she could help them out, but they weren’t sure how Andy and Ted would take to them mutating one of their trees. 

 

The evening went by quickly, and at nine Hermione’s parents were more than ready to leave, even if it meant stepping back into the fireplace. With the unspoken promise that they would both be looking for spells to contribute to their masterpiece, Hermione and Draco said goodnight. Dora shot them both a look that promised she would find out what they were up to, before affectionately saying goodbye to Hermione.

 

The dinners became an intended weekly event, and another letter arrived on Tuesday inviting them once again at the end of the week. Again, neither of the older Grangers could bring themselves to decline after seeing Hermione’s hopeful expression. 

 

They found nothing particular to fault with either Ted and Andromeda or with Narcissa and Lucius, but both pairs were so clearly immersed in magic it was terrifying. There was no fridge or oven, nor was there a microwave in the kitchen. There was simply no need for them, and Ted explained that magic interfered with appliances, accounting for the the lack of television and radio. They couldn’t shake that there was something unnatural about the house. And the transportation! Erupting into green flames in a fireplace wasn’t an experience they were looking forward to repeating. 

 

Perhaps what bothered them most was that even to Hermione, it seemed that it was normal. An everyday occurrence. It hit them hard in that moment that what had happened—it would never be normal to them. It was Hermione’s world, Hermione’s people. New traditions, different customs, they led a completely different life than that she was somehow born into. 

 

That Tuesday, after the realization that their daughter was a witch truly struck them, they decided abandon their hope to have her attend muggle school. There was little point in trying to prevent what they were fairly certain was inevitable assimilation, though they could at least assert some influence and delay it.

 

When they got home from their second dinner at the Tonks cottage, an owl was impatiently waiting for them at the kitchen window, cooing and clucking, angry he was made to wait so long. Hermione let out an amused chuckle at the bird, he was so very similar to his mistress. Lavender Brown sent out a party invitation for a sleepover she was going to hold in two weeks time, on the first of August.

 

Hermione’s insides suddenly twisted in anxiety. Yes, she was excited to go to visit her friend. There was no doubt about that. Gratified, flattered, and pleased that she was invited as well. The anxiety stemmed from the fact that in her nearly thirteen years, she had never been invited to a similar event. Prior to the disastrous birthday party when she was eight, her parents always accompanied her to events with her friends, and over Christmas, there was no doubt that things with Draco and Dora were entirely different. 

 

All that being acknowledged, she didn’t know what to bring to a sleepover in the muggle world…let alone in the wizarding world! She bit her lip, rereading the parchment for the hundredth time that night. Narcissa would know, she decided just shy of one o’clock. Sitting up quickly, she scampered over to her desk to write to her.  

 

The next afternoon, Hermione received a letter quieting most, if not all, her fears. Narcissa gave her a list of what she aught to pack, and included some suggestions for things to bring to the family hosting the get together. It was all pretty standard, and though the gift suggestions seemed a little odd she was certain the woman knew what she was talking about.

 

Much to her dismay, her parents glanced at the list of gifts Narcissa suggested, but had their own ideas about what she should bring. Her mother suggested a few muggle gifts, the kinds of things you bring back for friends and family from vacation. The thought of giving a cute mug, T-shirt, or otherwise tacky souvenir to Lavender and her parents twisted her insides, even if it was tempered to look more elegant with chocolates and flowers. The very idea was mortifying! 

 

“I can’t give them that!” she cried out, looking between her mum and the coffee mug and shirt.

 

“Sweetheart, it’s a wonderful gift! I’m sure your friend will appreciate it.” There was a hint of finality in her voice, but Hermione refused to acknowledge it.

 

“No, I want to get them something from the list Narcissa sent.” Hermione said, crossing her arms. She looked at them with a stony expression, trying to ignore the tug of guilt at her mother’s hurt expression.

 

“You’re ashamed of us lowly ‘muggles’ now? You insist on wearing  _ robes _ ” Jean’s voice dripped with the venom she’d been trying to keep hidden during the past weeks, “and now even the gift we came up with isn’t good enough? It has to be from  _ Narcissa’s _ list?”

 

“Jean…” Richard spoke quietly, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

 

“Fine. We’ll go to  _ Diagon Alley _ ,” she sneered the name, “tomorrow so you can pick out everything you need.”

 

“No…it’s alright” Hermione said, looking down at the floor with burning cheeks.

 

It was a startling realization that on some level she was ashamed of them. After being told for a year that she should be, she supposed some of it rubbed off on her. She was ashamed of her muggle parents, who’d been nothing short of supportive and wonderful. She never resented them for being muggles, but if she could’ve traded them for magical parents, a part of her might have agreed. That was far more terrifying than the idea that she might bring an unacceptable gift to a sleepover.

 

“It’s fine, Hermione.” Jean said, sternly. She rubbed her temples, the anger in her tone changed to exhaustion. She sat down on the living room couch a little harder than usual. “Narcissa does know better, we’ll go shopping tomorrow. I just…I thought it might be a fun gift, but considering everything…we’ll go with Narcissa’s suggestions.”

 

“Thanks, Mum.” Hermione croaked out, though it hardly felt like a victory. The earlier guilt continued to manifest itself through her body, twisting her stomach into knots. 

  
  


When the day came and she arrived at the Brown household, Hermione was incredibly relieved to have followed Narcissa’s advice and instructions to the letter despite whatever discomfort it caused with her parents. 

 

She’d seen a new side of Lucius and Narcissa when they were around her parents, they weren’t casting the room disdainful looks the way they were at the platform, nor were they carefree like when it was just her with the family. The Malfoy family was everything the Brown’s clearly strived to be: poised, elegant, powerful, and most important to Mrs. Brown, she surmised, the darlings of society. As part of the sacred twenty eight and one of the wealthiest families in Europe, they might as well be royalty. The moment she met Lavender’s mother, it was obvious the woman was trying to emulate Cissa, though she fell very far short. The word pompous came to mind.

 

The woman barely looked away from her conversation with Mrs. Greengrass and Mrs. Chang when she arrived, obviously deciding they were both far worthier of her time then the little mudblood girl. While she was far from welcomed by the witch, Hermione suspected she’d been saved from a good deal of uninspired comments about her blood-status and manners because she followed Cissa’s advice.

 

Lavender turned out to be a much friendlier host than her mother. Giggling, she invited her in to join the rest of the girls. Cho and Marietta were civil, and Daphne refrained from making any rude comments, though it was obvious she was just barely biting them back. When the Patil twins arrived, Hermione found herself strangely relieved to see them. Pavarti was eager to fill her in on the boy she met that summer, while Padma rolled her eyes and smiled knowingly. 

 

After things settled down a little, they moved to a parlour where Lavender set up pillows and blankets for all the girls, explaining her mother had given her permission to use it for the evening. Snacks and drinks were also laid out, much to the gaggle of girls’ delight.

 

They’d barely sat down when Pavarti spoke up. “Greengrass—Kiss, Kill, Marry: Brevis Birch, Galvin Gudgeon, and Kirley Duke.”

 

Daphne looked thoughtful for half a moment, then pursed her lips and replied, “Kiss Galvin Gudgeon, he’s so pretty…”

 

“He’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to quidditch!” Cho exclaimed, looking affronted at the thought.

 

“He’s still pretty,” Daphne shrugged, “ _ anyway _ …marry Brevis Birch, and kill Kirley Duke.”

 

“You can’t kill Kirley Duke!” Lavender practically shouted, glaring at the blonde girl across the room.

 

“Watch me.” Daphne responded, flashing her a charming smile.

 

Hermione was already completely lost. Whoever Kirley Duke was, she could honestly say she didn’t care. Padma also seemed less than impressed, practically rolling her eyes at Lavender’s outburst. Whoever the bloke, clearly she didn’t think too highly of him.

 

“Chang—Harry Potter, Blaise Zabini, and Draco Malfoy” Daphne asked, giving a predatory look towards the older Ravenclaw. Cho blushed, looking around the room as if in the hopes of finding an escape.

 

“Come on, Cho! You have to answer!” Pavarti squealed.

 

_ “Fine. _ I’d kiss Zabini, marry Potter, and kill Malfoy.” she said, glaring around the room.

 

“You have no taste.” Daphne said, crinkling her nose. Hermione had to agree…if only because the girl just announced she’d kill her best friend.

 

Padma went next, receiving another set of Hogwarts boys, then it was Hermione’s turn. She gulped seeing the twin’s gaze fall to her.

 

“Hermione.” she announced, “Gilderoy Lockhart, Eldred Worple, or Professor Snape” she added the last name with a wicked smile.

 

“Snape?!” her twin cried, shuddering. “The dungeon bat? Definitely kill that one, Hermione.”

 

“Kiss Eldred Worple, marry Lockhart, and kill Snape…even if he really isn’t that bad.” Privately, Hermione recalled their last conversation and was quite sure she’d swap those around. Really though, the last thing she needed was for any part of the conversation to reach the surly potions master’s ears. She was quite certain she would die from embarrassment.

 

She stuck close to Padma for the rest of the night, giggling with her, Pavarti, and Lavender while the other three girls kept close to themselves. Between the three of them, they managed to wrestle her hair into a semblance of a braid, though judging by Lavender’s dejected look it was hardly something she would want to wear outside. It wasn’t until after a particularly disgusting game involving some of the less palatable flavours of ‘Berty Bott’s Every Flavour Beans’, exploding snaps, and a few more torrid confessions that the girls finally fell asleep.

  
  


They slept in, unsurprisingly, until just shy of noon. Promised home to their parents by one, packing up and eating breakfast was done as quickly and efficiently as a group of seven twelve year old girls could do anything. 

 

Hermione watched enviously as the mothers of the other girls showed up, trickling in and making small talk with Mrs. Brown. It couldn’t be helped, she thought with a sigh. She doubted her mother would be welcomed even if she did work up the courage to step into the fireplace alone. Finally, sometime after Daphne left and before the twins did, Hermione said goodbye to the remaining girls and disappeared in a burst of green flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> This chapter hasn't been beta read, so I apologize for any obvious mistakes I might have missed.


	12. Summer 1--Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading etc.! I'm gonna change the update day to Sunday...it's just a lot more convenient for me.
> 
> This chapter has, once again, not been beta read. When it has, I'll replace it with the new version.
> 
> I know next to nothing about TV, even less about British TV, and absolute nothing about British TV in the early 90s. I picked something at random from a list of shows Wikipedia claimed would have come out around that time. If someone is knowledgable about what one might have been watching painful reruns of there in 1992...please let me know so I can fix it!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the second chapter of summer, and I promise I'm getting to a bit more set up and plot soon :)

When her parents first returned to work, Hermione found herself far from bored during the day. She had coursework to do, books to study for the upcoming year, books to read for pleasure, and letters to write. But after getting back from the sleepover, there was little to nothing remaining. Her letters took up less time, considering she saw the primary recipients on a weekly basis. Instead, she found herself rereading books from her shelf and watching the horror that was _Birds of a Feather_ reruns, all while writing to Draco through their books.

She'd forgotten what it was like to be left to her own devices for that long. While it had never bothered her in the past, sharing a dorm room with five other girls for ten months seemed to have gotten her used to company. Things at Hogwarts were always busy, people surrounded her whether she liked it or not, and even if it was only sitting in hostile silence in the common room, they were still present.

She checked her book to find words rapidly appearing on the page.

_Mother says I can invite you to the manor._

_Can you come tomorrow? I'm so_ bored! _We can play quidditch! And build your bloody tree house in the back._

_I found a book I need to show you._

_Ask your parents if you can come, I'm going to go mad before Sunday otherwise._

_Bloody Pug-Face-Pansy was here yesterday. I think Mrs. Parkinson has a thing for my father, you should have seen her simpering. It was disgusting. Mother wasn't pleased, and I don't think I have to worry about enduring her again this summer._

_Hermione I'm so_ BORED _._

A small smile crossed her face as the text continued to grow with Draco's ravings that he was bored, and that he wanted to see her. It was always nice to to feel wanted.

Lavender replied to her letters consistently, filling them with exorbitant details about the gossip she'd collected, and the highlights of the lives of the Wizarding World's rich and famous. She was not subtle about alluding to the Malfoys as Hermione's future in-laws, something which the young witch vehemently refuted with every reply she sent back. She couldn't help but roll her eyes at most of the information. The parties they hosted, and attended were hardly any more interesting than the ones she was dragged around to by her parents, though she was gratified that so far they had been few and far between, involving less cousins than usual. Clearly, her parents were making an effort to spare her, the thought made her smile even wider.

Harry on the other hand, who had enthusiastically promised to write, hadn't replied to a single one of her letters. Even amid self deprecating thoughts, this seemed like very odd Harry Potter behaviour. Draco insisted it was because the boy-who-lived probably didn't know how to read or write, but then she reminded him he was thinking of Ronald, not Harry.

She was practically bubbling over with excitement when her parents arrived home from work.

"Mum! Dad! Draco's invited me over to the manor tomorrow, is it alright if I go? I've finished all my work…there really isn't much to do around here…"

"Slow down, darling." Richard said, while shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up in the closet.

"Let us come in first, then we can talk." Jean added with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Practically bouncing, Hermione made her way back to the living room where she knew her parents would be adjourning. She sat in her favourite corner of the couch, tapping her fingers impatiently against the armrest. It felt like they were trying to make her wait; her father brewed a pot of tea in the kitchen, while her mother sorted through the day's mail. They were the same mundane activities they did each time they went home. Usually, she hardly noticed, but today each second dragged on torturing her with anticipation.

Considering how her time was spent at home, there was no feasible reason for them to say no to her. Still though, she couldn't help the nagging suspicion that they would be less than pleased by her new way to keep occupied.

"So, Mum? Please?" she asked, having outlined as calmly as she could the plan to spend her days, while they were at work, at Malfoy Manor with Draco.

Hermione had been overjoyed by Narcissa's invitation, which extended past the next day. Rather, it was an open invitation to the manor during the day. She toyed with her bracelet, as she'd fallen into the habit of doing, while waiting for a response.

After a few more dinners in their company, the Grangers did not like the Malfoys. While the latter family did nothing specific to inspire Jean and Richard's ire, it was their general demeanour that didn't sit well with them. Richard was certain he'd caught Lucius eyeing them with the same expression one typically reserved for a pest in their house—a rat that made it's way into the basement or a cockroach that refused to be killed. Narcissa was a pleasant host along with her sister, but she spoke with a certain condescension that made them feel as though she thought they aught to feel privileged to be in her presence.

They were fairly certain it was done unintentionally, but whether that made it better or worse was yet to be decided. Their rejection of _normal_ people was so deeply ingrained in their upbringing that they didn't pause for a minute to consider how they treated them. Their one redeeming feature in the eyes of the Grangers, and frankly the only reason they hadn't put their foot down about Sunday dinners Hermione had taken to attending alone, was how wonderful they were to her. The belittling looks were never sent her way.

After swallowing hard, Jean finally gave her answer. "Of course you can go, it must be lonely here. As long as you're home for supper, we don't mind."

Hermione tried to keep her composure as she ate her breakfast the next day. To just about any outsider, she would have appeared perfectly calm and composed, but her parents noted with some amusement, over their newspapers, the slight shifts in her weight from side to side on her chair, and the somewhat more frequent glances towards the grandfather clock in the corner.

Her porridge and juice finished, she sat waiting for it to chime, watching the pendulum swing from left to right. She just needed to wait two more minutes before she could bound out of the room and floo to Malfoy Manor. Draco already alerted her that as long as she wore the bracelet his mother gave him, the wards would recognize her as family and allow her freely through.

It was fascinating magic, and she couldn't wait to quiz Lucius about it further. How did blood wards work? she wondered. She always assumed blood prejudice had some foundation in blood magic, but with the heirloom aspect introduced, she wondered just how much else there was to it.

She couldn't wait to see the manor. Draco often spoke — boasted— of it at school to anyone who would listen. There was a quidditch pitch, a pool, and a lake on the grounds, and the house itself was huge. Her favourite part though, the only one which made her green with envy, was the library. He promised her free reign of it, and she was nearly drooling in anticipation.

Finally, she heard the clock chime. Her chair was pushed back abruptly and she walked over to her parents. After giving them each a quick one armed hug and a kiss on the cheek, she grabbed her bag and rushed to the fireplace.

With the customary burst of green flame, she landed in an elegant entrance hall. She would have been impressed with the rich cream walls and dark mahogany trimmings if given the time to observe them, but instead she was immediately dragged off by Draco. She stumbled behind him as he tugged on her arm.

"Draco!" Narcissa's voice admonished, catching Hermione as she stumbled over her feet. The imposing blonde woman levelled a glare at her son, steadying the girl with a firm hand around her waist. "What are you doing?"

Draco turned his pointy, pale face to the ground, reddening slightly as he glanced between his mother and Hermione. As much as the bushy haired girl was beginning to be integrated into the family, being reprimanded in front of her before they'd spoken even two words to each other was downright humiliating.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." he mumbled, feeling slightly ashamed at his actions. It was for almost an entire minute under the wrathful stare of his mother that he forgot the original reason he'd taken to dragging Hermione unceremoniously through the manor.

"I found a Snidget!" he exclaimed. Hermione heard Narcissa suck in a quick breath.

"Draco, what did you do?" she asked, looking horrified.

If it was anyone but his mother, Draco would have snarled. "Nothing, it's just sitting outside the manor." he shrugged, trying to appear innocent, "I was coming back to get Hermione so we could figure out what to do with it before it left."

"A Snidget?" Hermione asked with a frown. It was a name she'd heard once, but she hadn't the foggiest recollection where.

"Draco, you will _do_ nothing with it, do you understand me?" Narcissa eyed her son wearily, "there's a reason those poor little birds aren't used to play quidditch with any longer."

Draco pouted, but nodded somewhat thoughtfully. Hurting the bird hadn't been his intention…but it was just so exciting! Hermione on the other hand, looked horrified at the thought.

"They used to catch a bird?" she exclaimed, blinking rapidly, "but that's barbaric!"

"It is, isn't it?" Cissa nodded, the quiver in her voice nearly betraying her amusement as a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. With a reaction like that from his friend, she could be very sure Draco wouldn't give into the temptation of chasing the poor creature around on a broomstick.

"I'll just let the two of you run along then, Draco—remember your manners. I won't have you half dragging a guest through the manor. It's nice to see you, Hermione."

While she didn't want to try and catch him, Hermione felt no compunction observing the Snidget, and was eager to follow Draco back outside in the hopes that it was still around. Her blond friend, on the other hand, was significantly less enthusiastic now that his mother and friend had instilled into him a proper sense of guilt.

Still though, it was an interesting sight. The little golden wings flapped wildly in circles at the sides of its rounded body. It was easy to see the progression from the bird to the golden metal ball now used. Even the colour matched perfectly. Hermione wasn't sure if this was a mark of excellent craftsmanship, or simply the unoriginality of wizards.

After the bird flew away, Draco was happy that they could finally play quidditch, even if it was with standard, modern equipment. When he clobbered her within the first ten minutes of the game, Hermione's eyes narrowed towards his smug grin and she thwacked him on the arm.

She was horribly out of practice flying, a month and it was already showing. Sunday matches hardly counted compared to how much she flew at school, and her arms were already feeling the full weight of the quaffle.

Refusing to leave things the way they were for the game, she challenged Draco to a rematch. She held her own a little longer, but the outcome was eventually the same. By lunchtime, she wanted to howl in frustration, but instead satisfied her pettiness by giving her friend the silent treatment.

"Hermioneeee" he whined, "talk to me. Don't be such a bad loser."

"Then you don't be such a terrible winner."

He smirked at her, "the point is that I'm the winner."

"Don't forget all the times I destroyed you at the end of last year." she muttered under her breath.

"Believe me, with all the modesty you displayed for those wins it's easy to forget." he said, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

"Whatever." she replied in a snooty tone, tossing her braid behind her shoulder. His smug grin widened. With Hermione, that was practically a declaration that he was right, and he'd take what he could get.

Walking into the drawing room, Hermione couldn't help but suck in her breath. She'd been in beautiful rooms before, at her grandparents' houses, when she visited her aunts and uncles, even her own house was nothing shabby. This room was something else though, the deep purple walls lined with elegant wizarding portraits were set off by the ornate marble mantlepiece at the far end. Her eyes were drawn to the gilded mirror, then finally settled on the crystal chandelier hanging over the long, ornate dining room table. It was _stunning_.

"Lucius's mother, Lycoris, has excellent taste." Cissa said, walking towards Hermione and following her gaze towards the chandelier. "She commissioned that chandelier when we redecorated the manor together after I married Lucius. It's something of a tradition…" she trailed off, smiling fondly at the room. "Come now, sit down! The elves will be by with our meals shortly."

Leading by example, Cissa walked over to the head of the table, which fell to her in Lucius's absence, and sat, followed closely by Draco.

"It's beautiful." Hermione observed out loud, slowly walking to the table after her hosts

She could see the portraits observing her carefully, but either they'd been silenced, or were well mannered enough to remain quiet while the family entertained. She felt reasonably safe at guessing the latter.

When she was finally seated, she opened her mouth to speak, but instead let out a startled squeak when two house elves appeared near the table, one pouring drinks while the other distributed food on the table.

"I wasn't aware that there were house elves working outside of Hogwarts." she commented, "though I suppose that was a little silly of me." she added, smiling at the two elves. One responded in kind, adding a happy wave in her direction, while the second surprised her with a scowl. It was the first time she'd met an elf who was anything but enthusiastic and friendly.

Draco caught her frown and glared in the direction of the elf. Catching his look, the elf bowed and turned to leave, casting one last dirty look at the three of them. Hermione was tactful enough not to mention him at the table, the last thing she wanted to do was insult the family in some way over something as ridiculous as an irate elf. She assumed they also had bad days, for all she knew he hadn't slept well the night before and was merely taking issue with being awake.

"Lucius needs to go to France on Thursday for business, if your parents are agreeable to the plan, I was thinking of bringing you and Draco along as well. The four of us could stay for a few days and return on Saturday night." Narcissa drawled. She hid the intense gratification she felt when both children beamed at her.

The last time she'd suggested a similar excursion to Draco, he'd been thoroughly unenthusiastic, and in the end she suspected he'd gone along only because he felt cornered. With Hermione joining them, she'd found yet another way to bribe the boy into following her plans, and had the added bonus of Hermione being an interesting, intelligent girl who she thoroughly enjoyed for her own merit. Had Draco picked to be friends with the Nott boy, or the insufferable Parkinson girl…Cissa almost shuddered at the thought. She would _not_ have been willing to pay that steep of a price to keep him content.

Hermione's excitement was again only marred by the necessity of asking her parents. She kept her mind relatively free from the concern for most of the afternoon, particularly when Draco brought her to the library. There were so many different volumes, the work of generations, Hermione wondered if many of the them existed outside Malfoy Manor. There was so much information stored in this library, more than even the Hogwarts library she would say if she were to hazard a guess.

She ran her hand along the spines on one of the lower shelves as she walked further into the maze of shelves. Draco followed behind her, amused at her reaction. It was everything he'd expected from her and more.

Seeing her that passionate about learning, and about so many of the things he took for granted, having been born into a pureblood family sometimes made him feel ashamed. With every opportunity given to him, it was only his competitive nature and unyielding desire to win which forced him to keep up with her in school. To be as passionate about, well, _anything_ , as she was about seemingly everything would be something amazing.

It nearly took her breath away, to be privileged enough to walk through the library, one of the largest collections in Europe, if what she'd heard was accurate. A more cynical side of her came out on occasion, reminding her and nagging at her that she was good enough to associate with them, but not good enough for people to know about it.

The danger openly associating with a muggle-born would present to the Malfoy family wasn't lost on Hermione, clearly Andy thought it was significant if she would tolerate her own sister not acknowledging her publicly. From everything she learned about Andy since meeting her half a year ago, she was not someone who took well to being slighted or trifled with. Contrary to what she believed in most situations, she found the best way to deal with the situation was simply not to think too deeply on it.


	13. Summer 1--A Weekend in France

On Thursday, Hermione was ready to go by the fireplace the customary ten minutes before she needed to be. She had a small bag packed, and wore the robes her mother had bought her for Lavender’s sleepover. 

 

With some annoyance, she listened to her parents tell her to behave, and bit her tongue to keep from replying that at almost thirteen, they did not need to remind her that she needed to say please and thank you, or brush her teeth before going to sleep. The very idea that they felt the need to was insulting. 

 

After several more ‘yes, Mum’’s, she was finally allowed to leave. Until the moment she stepped through the floo network, she wasn’t entirely sure that they weren’t going to change their minds. It had been a long, hard, tear-filled battle to get them to agree. All week, they’d been on and off about letting her go, and it wasn’t until late the night before, right when she was about to go to sleep, that they’d finally conceded. 

 

The Grangers could understand her wanting to spend her days with Draco. Being alone in the house couldn’t be pleasant, but they had meant the stipulation that they didn’t mind only as long as she was home for dinner. 

 

With Hermione gone nine months of the year, dinner time during the summer was almost all they had. The last thing they wanted to encourage Narcissa to do was whisk their daughter away on a whim. A single weekend was perfectly acceptable, but if they’d noticed anything with the Malfoy family it was that they constantly seemed to demand more. A weekend would easily turn into a week the next time. They certainly didn’t doubt there would be a next time.

 

When Hermione stepped into the entrance hall, the manor was in about as much disorder as she imagined possible. Lucius stood scowling, flinching as Narcissa’s voice cut through the halls. Her voice carried, powerful and bold. She sounded like an army general commanding her troops, or a director calling for a failing scene to be redone.  

 

“Draco! We will not be missing the portkey because of you. You have fifteen minutes, and then I expect you to be in the drawing room ready to leave.” 

 

“Hello, Hermione. You picked a most unfortunate time to arrive, I’m afraid.” Lucius drawled, flinching again as Narcissa realized her son wasn’t even out of bed. She smiled tightly, trying to hide her own flinch at the renewed shouts. The pair stood in sympathetic silence, both secretly thinking they were glad it was Draco, and not them, being subjected to the worst of it.

 

When Narcissa finally stepped through the door and planted a kiss on her husband’s face, it made the entire audio scene that unfolded moments earlier seem absurd. Once again, she appeared the epitome of grace and elegance rather than a woman frustrated with her offspring. She moved towards Hermione, pulling the girl into a tight hug. 

 

“It’s lovely to see you, darling.” she said with a smile. In an incredibly familiar gesture, she brushed away a tangle of curls falling in front of her face, “I’m glad your parents were alright with you joining us. Our portkey is leaving in thirty minutes, have you had anything for breakfast?”

 

When Lucius cautiously judged that his wife was finished with her earlier imitation of a banshee, he joined in the conversation, highlighting his own favourite places to visit while in France. Cissa promised Hermione she would show her all the major wizarding sights and museums—which came as a relief to the young girl. While she was excited to go no matter what the trip entailed, sightseeing and museums were certainly more to her liking than shopping. 

 

The latter occupation she knew would be unavoidable, but with the quantity reduced she figured she could grin and bear it quite well.

 

Draco finally stumbled into the room, looking harassed at being awake an hour before he usually was. He managed a smile in Hermione’s direction, but didn’t say anything as he dragged his feet to stand next to her.

 

“You didn’t even gel your hair—this  _ must _ be too early for you.” she whispered. At the garbled noise he made in response, she snickered, drawing the older Malfoys’ looks toward them. 

 

What she didn’t tell him, is that he really did look much better now that his hair could move. Something stirred in her stomach as she really looked at him, something was...different, she decided. 

 

She wasn’t sure what it was, and clearly Draco was in no state of mind to catch it. Narcissa, on the other hand, didn’t miss it for a moment. A triumphant grin threatened to spread across her face before she quickly concealed it with tutting at their state of readiness and insistence that they eat before leaving.

 

After breakfast was wrapped up, Cissa pulled out the necklace they’d used as a portkey for years, and she held it out for them. She waited as everyone took a corner of the intricate, gold chain. Reaching for it last, Hermione’s hand clasped around the festoon, a beautiful amalgamation of opal and gold. She admired it for a few moments until she felt something like a hook behind her navel, pulling her away from where she stood. She glanced around, hoping to understand what was happening. Before she could, she felt whatever it was let go, and was unceremoniously dumped onto her backside. 

 

Even before Hermione saw Draco, Narcissa, and Lucius float gracefully down around her, her face flushed a bright shade of red. Humiliation gripped her at her incompetence. Draco reached down to help her up, and she tried to hide her blush behind her wild mane of hair.  

 

“It’s fine, Hermione. Honestly, we’ve traveled by portkey a million times, it’s only natural that we’re used to it. It’ll be easier next time.” he said, flashing her a comforting smile. Being reminded that she came from a muggle family, and had missed out on so many things considered normal and common in the magical world didn’t necessarily sit well with her. Despite not being quite what she needed to hear, it did appease her.

 

She accepted the comforting words in the spirit in which they'd been offered, and tried to forget about the embarrassment. It helped that the older Malfoys didn’t bat an eyelash at her struggle, and that Draco quickly distracted her with History of Wizarding France 101. Now that he was properly awake, he seemed rather pleased to know more about a subject than she did, and proud to be able to share it with her.

 

Their first course of action was to apparate to a well known wizarding hotel in Paris. It figured, she realized, that this was a much more elegant place than the Leaky Cauldron. Clearly, being ravaged by war twice within a century had done nothing for the UK’s wizarding infrastructure or already small population. First Grindelwald, and then Voldemort... Even if there had been a time when either man fought for a real cause, whether right or wrong, it quickly disappeared as their lust for power grew. The result was purely the destruction and near annihilation of what might once have been a great people.

 

The British Wizarding world was composed primarily of the Ministry of Magic, Diagon Alley, and a handful of communities like Hogsmeade and Godric’s Hollow scattered around the countryside. France, on the other hand, had entire neighbourhoods of townhouses and apartments, multiple streets dedicated to Wizarding goods, and a much larger number, of, incidentally, larger communities. As a result, they could sustain a much higher standard of establishment.

 

This particular place was like nothing she’d ever seen before, it was filled with flowers and fountains, looking more like a garden than a lobby. Trying not to appear too tacky or touristy, Hermione snapped a quick picture for her parents. 

 

When they weren’t immediately assisted, the older Malfoys began to appear displeased. Lucius was content enough to sneer at their surroundings, muttering to the children about the various failings of customer service representatives. He emphasized the need to distrust everything they did, whether it be room service or check in. One could never know how they might try to rob you, or cheat you out of something that aught to be yours. Narcissa’s impatience took a different route. Her heels clicked lightly as she walked further into the gardens.

 

When she finally found a member of the hotel staff, she didn’t say a word. Instead, she stood by examining her nails, her lips puckered in distaste. When the woman looked up from whatever chart she’d been inspecting, she fumbled with it for a moment before beginning a tirade of apologies. Chart lady stumbled over her words, nerves and fear of the terrifying, beautiful woman rendering her incomprehensible. Less than appeased, Narcissa continued to eye her disdainfully. As people became aware of their presence, rushing forward to relieve them of their luggage and show them to their suite, her face pinched like she smelt something foul.

 

Too distracted by the hustle of the rest of the hotel staff, Hermione didn’t hear Narcissa utter, with the sweetest smile in her repertoire, a comment that caused the chart woman’s eyes to fill with tears. Draco, however, did and his snickers drew Hermione’s attention. When she looked towards him, he just gestured with a nod towards the woman who was now close to breaking down.

 

Privately, Hermione thought the remorse shown by the hotel staff was disproportionate to the crime of failing to notice their arrival. It might have been more appropriate if they’d accidentally, or deliberately for that matter, killed their familiar. She hated to think what might have happened to chart woman in that case. Clearly, she wasn’t particularly good at dealing with criticism.

 

It was rather irritating, by the third time they walked through the lobby, to be followed and explained the different ways the staff would be making amends for their great transgression. If Hermione could have been certain that they would survive their mortification, she would have asked them to leave her alone. Narcissa seemed to have simply given up the staff as a lost cause. Failings of customer service indeed. She decided that the incompetents, as Lucius dubbed them, needed to have more common sense.

 

Nearing the end of the weekend, Hermione couldn’t honestly say she wasn’t a tad disappointed to have missed out on the muggle sights, but the wizarding ones more than made up for the lack of Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe on this trip. 

 

They spent the entire day Thursday and Friday viewing these aforementioned sights, everything from the town where the largest of the goblin revolutions took place, led by Urg the Unclean, to the castle where the last International Warlock Convention was held before Morgana overthrew it. She loathed to admit that she only knew the former name from a chocolate frog card. 

 

Draco was a much better sport about being dragged to various historical sights than she’d imagined he might be. Somehow, considering  how often she’d caught him sleeping in Professor Binns’ class, she’d always assumed he had no love for history.

 

Once again, she was a twinge annoyed at having let herself make assumptions. She loved history, and frequently found herself taking a nap in that particular afternoon class. It was completely and irrevocably impossible not to be lulled to sleep by the sound of the ghost’s voice. Seeing the glimmer in Draco’s eyes, she knew it was far more than just triumph at knowing more than she did. It was genuine passion. 

 

She envied him for it. She loved all her classes, loved learning everything about the magical world, but she’d never found anything that excited her in that way. There hadn’t been anything that struck her as something she desperately needed to pursue, beyond her usual academic curiosity. It was about proving  _ them _ wrong, the people who verbally or physically tried to convince her to leave. She was sure that without the fear, properly instilled in her, of what might happen if she failed, she wouldn’t have done half as well as she did, or worked half as hard.

 

She hoped that come third year taking new classes might help her sort through it, but was terrified it wouldn’t. She liked transfiguration and charms, but both in large part because the teachers were proficient. Potions was fascinating, but a tad too finicky in practice for her taste. Since Professor Quirrell turned out to be Voldemort in disguise, she hardly imagined that the class had been given a fair trial. 

 

Despite the moment of depressing thoughts with regards to her future, she had little to no time to brood on it before being whisked into a new direction by Draco.

  
  


On Saturday, Hermione found herself walking into a small wizarding cafe with Draco and Narcissa, feet aching from a morning of very  _ efficient  _ shopping. Narcissa insisted on dressing her and Draco up like a set of dolls all morning, and while it was fun at first, Hermione soon found herself mirroring Draco’s expressions, only schooling them so as to not appear ungrateful for the piles of robes, shoes, and jewelry the older woman insisted on purchasing her. The silver lining, she supposed, was that they did not have to haul around the nearly fifty bags they each would have had to in the muggle world. Here, they were blessed with the undetectable extension charm. Bags or no, sitting down had rarely appeared quite as tempting.

 

Between bouts of whining, Draco worked to fill in to Hermione the details of dinner at Greengrass Manor the night before they left. 

 

“And Mr Greengrass spoke to Father about arranging a marriage between me and Daphne, apparently he heard about the falling out between Mrs Parkinson and Mother.” he made a face while he pulled out his chair, apparently annoyed at Hermione’s silence. “Daphne bloody Greengrass!” he tried to impress his disgust to her.

 

For her part, she was simply horrified to think her friend might be facing a betrothal contract over the next few years. She understood why arranged marriages might be quite successful. The whole similar goals, values, and expectations from life had been explained and clearly, judging the attachment between the older Malfoys, it wasn’t actually a terrible idea. It was different though to accept the premise than to watch as her best friend was contracted into one. 

 

“Draco, hush.” Narcissa said. Her voice was soft, but the grip she held on his shoulder spoke volumes. Eyeing the women at the surrounding tables carefully, she didn’t appear to relax until it was apparent that they hadn’t heard.

 

She rounded back on her son, speaking just as quietly, “Draco, you know better than to talk like that when we’re out. The Greengrass’s are a powerful family.” When he looked properly chastised, she cast the room another glance, “Besides, you know full well we aren’t going to saddle you with Greengrass or, Salazar forbid, Pansy bloody Parkinson.” Cissa sneered the names in a way that made Draco’s disgust with them seem insignificant. 

 

He choked on an incredulous laugh, almost alarmed to hear his mother speaking in such a manner.  From the relief on his face, it was clear to Hermione that he had not been aware that his parents wouldn’t, as his mother put it, saddle him with either girl. 

 

When a waitress came to take their order, Cissa purchased each of them a very generous portion of desert along with an ice cold pumpkin juice. While eating the decadent chocolate cake, suddenly their shopping plight seemed much less dire. 

 

They were laughing, scraping the last of their cake from their plates and drinking the last of their juice when a voice cut into their conversation.

 

“Madame Malfoy! C’est fantastique de vous revoir, cela fait déja quoi? Une année entière? Draco aussi, bien sur. Comment allez-vous?” A young woman in her early twenties trilled, making her way to their table. 

 

Hermione had seen that same look many times, like when Pansy trailed after Draco, or when Ron trailed after food. It was pure, unadulterated, undying devotion. The kind that placed its object on a pedestal so high they couldn’t even properly examine it.

 

Narcissa turned to look at the girl, a blank expression on her face. After blinking twice, she graced the petite brunette witch with a placating smile. “Pardonnez-moi, d’où est ce que je vous connait?” she asked. If she didn’t know better, Hermione would have imagined Cissa to be acting deliberately condescending.

 

Narcissa was, in fact, being just that. It took a few moments for her to place the girl, but once she did it took her no time at all to deem her just barely above worthless. She was the daughter of Darian Burke. Though she supposed being sacred twenty eight had to count for something, her father had been kicked out of the Wizengamot years ago. Whatever his bloodline, the material point was that he was a mere shopkeeper through whom her husband did a considerable portion of his less savoury business. The girl wasn’t even the product of a sanctioned union. 

 

She might have overlooked all of that if she’d found a glimmer of real whit in the girl, but as it was, she found her good for very little except regurgitating information and begging like a dog after table scraps for acceptance.

 

Narcissa knew her mistake, she’d been kind to the girl at her mother’s funeral when Eleanor Nott passed away the year before. It wasn’t an act she’d intended to mean anything, only an atonement for the barbaric display that the other pureblood wives put on. 

 

The vast majority of them had nothing to do with Eleanor since Emery’s birth, and to simper and cry at her funeral, while being cruel to her daughter…it simply wasn’t done in  _ any _ circumstance. Narcissa wasn’t a monster, and she couldn’t quite come to regret the actions, only the consequences. Somehow, the girl now expected to receive acknowledgement, and she hated loose ends.

 

Cissa raised her pocket watch, and was enormously relieved that the children had finished their dessert. Before Emery could say another word, she began to elegantly push back her chair and usher Draco and Hermione to their feet. 

 

“Nous devons partir.” she said, rather blandly. Draco and Hermione followed obediently, and the trio made their way through the door back onto the street. 

 

The blond bit back a groan at being on his feet again, in part because his mother would reprimand him the moment they got home for it, but mostly because he didn’t want Hermione to tease him more than she already had.

 

Emery stood on the other side of the glass window, tears pooling in her eyes as she tried to bite back the hurt and humiliation of yet another rejection. She’d always held on to the faint hope that perhaps Narcissa’s letters were lost in the post, or that perhaps she’d never received her own. It was a long journey for an owl, after all. 

 

Seeing the woman she’d idolized for years, who had everything she never could hope for smiling with her son and his friend tore her apart. Whoever that little girl was, she hated her for the privilege she didn’t even seem to understand she held.

 

Her grades were good, she’d received six NEWTs, with Exceeds Expectations across the board, but pureblood society wouldn’t associate with her because she was born from an affair, while the rest of the wizarding world wouldn’t associate with her because she was Emery _ Burke. _ She was barred from every respectable wizarding business for one reason or the other, and it stung when jobs she was horribly overqualified for rejected her. 

 

If she’d been the child of Mr Nott, she could have at least hoped to make a semi-respectable marriage. Bastard or not, she was the daughter of two members of the sacred twenty-eight, blood counted for a lot, particularly as more and more families became extant. Unfortunately, as the bastard of Madam Nott, she was something that aught to be swept under the rug and forgotten about. No one would risk offending her mother’s husband by offering for her. 

 

When she apparated back to her small, dumpy flat above a muggle pub, she blasted through her furniture. Feeling just slightly better at the satisfying sound of splintering wood.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t hate me for showing some of Narcissa’s less pleasant side! I promise, we’ll also be seeing a lot more of sweet, wonderful Cissa.
> 
>  
> 
> Madame Malfoy! C’est fantastique de vous revoir, cela fait déja une année entière? Draco aussi, bien sur. Comment allez-vous?
> 
>  
> 
> Madam Malfoy! It’s wonderful to see you again, it’s already been a year? Draco too, of course. How are you?
> 
>  
> 
> Pardonnez-moi, d’où est ce que je vous connait?
> 
>  
> 
> I’m sorry, where do I know you from?
> 
>  
> 
> Nous devons partir.
> 
>  
> 
> We need to leave.


	14. Summer 1--New Developments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to apologize for not updating last week! Things came up in real life that I needed to deal with, but I promise that I'll try and stick to my schedule in the future.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's reading, following, who's favourited and reviewed! It means a lot to me. :) If I haven't gotten a chance to respond to reviews yet it's for the same reasons I didn't get to update last week, but I want you to know I appreciate them immensely!
> 
> There's a couple things borrowed from the books at the end. Obviously I don't own that, nor any of the wonderful characters and settings created by J.K. Rowling

Hermione was brimming with excitement as she told her parents all about her weekend. They were charmed, despite themselves, by the stories she told them that weaved the history they knew with the magical world's.

It was absolutely fascinating, though confusing, that events like the French Revolution barely impacted Wizarding society. It had taken little more than a century for the International Statute of Secrecy to fully destroy the ties between the wizarding world and the muggle one. A single generation. By the time the World Wars passed another century and a bit later, they weren't even acknowledged by anyone other than Muggle-borns with family directly implicated.

While they were still less than pleased with the time Hermione spent with the two wizarding families, the Grangers were happy to have won a victory. Much to his mother's chagrin, Draco Malfoy would be spending the last week of the holidays with them and their daughter on their annual camping trip.

In their perfect world, they would keep their daughter entirely to themselves. It would have been nice to spend that last week with as little as possible to remind her of magic, but considering the lead up to the holiday, bringing the Malfoy boy along seemed a small compromise.

The upcoming Sunday would be the summer's worst, Hermione established quickly. It was her Grandmother's birthday and, as such, there was truthfully no way to avoid the event. It was going to be hosted at a prestigious hotel, where not only family, but political guests would be present. As a well-known champion for women's rights, and more recently, rights for the elderly, her Grandmother was an impressive woman. Hermione admired her enormously, it was her children and grandchildren, her father and herself excluded, that she wasn't fond of.

She eyed the dress her mother had purchased for the occasion with some distaste, categorically refusing to put it on. It was a simple green dress, Slytherin green, she thought with amusement. Her Gryffindor friends would be appalled that she was dressing like a 'slimy snake', while she would bite back the urge to tell them that snakes were not slimy, and, in fact, truly fascinating creatures.

After wearing robes for the past few days, she could understand the resistance wizards showed to Muggle clothes. Robes were just so much more comfortable, tailored specifically for the buyer. The dress was lovely, but the material looked like it would itch. The worst part was that, without the proper pockets, she would be forced to leave her wand behind.

Months ago, she could remember wondering if magic would ever come naturally to her as a first instinct, but now she was always afraid she would forget herself while at home and use her wand. She felt naked without it, like a fundamental part of her was missing. Even knowing she couldn't actually use it, she would have felt more comfortable facing her family with it on her person.

That week, Hermione made a point of trying to keep distracted. She spent as much time as she could with Draco and Cissa at the Manor. Whether they were building their tree house in perceived secrecy on the grounds, playing quidditch, reading, or duelling under Narcissa's tutelage, Hermione tried to focus entirely on the task at hand.

The result was Draco losing one out of every three quidditch matches, and landing on his bottom more than once after being hit with a jinx. To Cissa's constant entertainment, neither child was quiet in their gloating, nor subtle in their pouting.

Loathe to be left behind by Hermione's rapid progress, Cissa saw Draco push himself harder to keep up while she was away. Even, to her amusement, picking up a few extra books in the library. She could barely hide her smile when she saw them strewn around his room where they had previously been conspicuously absent.

Sunday came without Hermione's permission. It was doubly cursed, because not only was she going to the party, but she would also be missing dinner with the Tonks. She cast the fireplace one last mourning look when her mother told her to get ready to leave, and headed up to her room.

Much less carefully than when she'd recently handled Cissa's purchases for her, she tossed the dress and shoes onto her bed. Hermione couldn't help glaring at them viciously, as if they were the cause of her awful evening plans.

After procrastinating as long as she could, she picked up the dress. It took a tremendous amount of effort to squeeze herself into it. Just barely, she managed to get it past her hips. Getting the zipper up was an entirely separate matter.

When her mother asked her to try it on earlier in the week, she lied and said it fit. With absolutely no intention of wearing it a minute longer than she needed to, she was perfectly comfortable with the assumption that there wouldn't be any issues.

She couldn't remember being so wrong. She could feel beads of sweat forming around her hairline. Not only had she grown an inch or two since the measurements her mother went off of where taken, but apparently exercise and puberty had taken to remoulding her body. She hadn't noticed it until that point, but her arms and shoulders were bigger, stronger looking than before. The muscles were toned and visible when she moved, and her waist thinner, having lost the softness that came from years of sitting indoors and reading unless forced outside.

If it wasn't for her impending doom, with the clock ticking down the minutes until they needed to leave, she might have been a little smug about the changes. Particularly when she realized she was starting to have breasts.

When one of the older girls had forgotten to lock their shared bathroom, she'd walked in to see her trying to add to her own with tissues. After her initial reaction, a progression of unimpressed at the girl getting caught, using tissues when there was a world of magical possibilities, and finally at her own less than well endowed state, she realized she could very much sympathize with the blushing third year, though she wouldn't admit it to a soul.

Hermione was quite confident that she only had the wizarding world's much more conservative outlook to thank for the lack of snide comments her way about that. With some of the outrageously private things happening in the castle, she never would have believed it, but after a year of living in the dorms she noticed that that particular subject, puberty, was taboo. It was a strange thing to be grateful for coming from fairly liberal parents, but her acne, bushy hair, and less than ideal beaver teeth were already more than enough things stacked against her. She was very glad that the other girls drew a line her cousins certainly never had somewhere before bugging her about being flat chested. It always seemed an unfair deal to need to put up with her period while getting absolutely none of the benefits that typically followed.

Despite being too flustered to notice the sound of her parents yelling at each other coming from the first floor, it did not make for a comforting atmosphere. She was in such a state of desperation that she barely even noticed tears start to fall as she looked for something to help fix the dress; maybe a shawl or jacket of sorts to cover the ripped back.

She couldn't stop thinking that her cousins would be merciless, and she could already picture Jenna spewing a million nasty things. Not even her threats could keep her silent if she showed up dressed the way she was. Frantically, she continued to throw item after item onto the bed, completely discarding her need for order and perfection.

"Hermione," she heard her father call from downstairs, "We're going to step out to pick up some wrapping paper and ribbon. Do you need anything?"

A dress, she wanted to yell back. Instead, she felt her mouth open and heard a reasonably assured 'no' come out. The sound of the door closing and locking behind them reached her, and as she got to the back of her closet, her heart was hammering rapidly. Why didn't she even have a shawl?

Sitting on her bed, she was about to write to Draco and rave about her predicament when another idea took shape. Instead of wallowing in self pity, she realized there was another option. A solution, really. Dress as close to on as could be, she raced downstairs and stepped into the fireplace.

Hermione made quite a sight barrelling through the manor in her ripped dress, tear tracks down her cheeks and her hair a wild mess. When she burst into a sitting room and finally found Cissa, the woman was, for once, completely caught off guard. Quickly, she stood up and crossed the floor to Hermione.

"Oh, Darling," she said, wiping tears off of the distraught girl's cheeks. When Hermione choked out a sob, Cissa took a different approach and hugged the girl, rocking her slightly side to side.

"Shhh, shh—It's alright. Just let it out." Her sobs redoubled in strength, covering the Malfoy woman's shoulder with snot and tears. It didn't seem to bother Cissa, who just kept holding and comforting her.

"It's all my fault! If I'd just tried it on like I was supposed to!" Hermione finally managed to finish telling her story, outraged at herself now that she vocalized how simple things could have been if she'd done what her mother asked her to do.

It was only because she could distinctly remember a time when she was in a similar position to Hermione's, and her indignation when her own mother hadn't the grace to bite back her laughter that she did so now. The situation, at the time, had seemed like the single most important, horrendous thing that could happen. A disaster with life or death consequences.

"Don't worry…just sit down." She directed her to the nearest couch, now carefully assessing her appearance. "I'll start with your hair."

Sniffling slightly, Hermione nodded and sat. She bit back something between a laugh and a sob as she heard the zipper rip further. At Narcissa's chuckle, she relaxed.

The woman worked quickly, and spent about fifteen minutes casting various spells, first to pin up her hair in an elaborate bun, then to lengthen, adjust, and fix her dress. She pursed her lips at it, fiddling with the back and finally tying it by hand.

"It's not perfect, but I doubt Madam Malkin will be anywhere around to examine my work. Bella, my big sister, used to mess with my clothes before events to try and embarrass me, I had to learn fast," she said with a sad smile. It was a bittersweet memory, laced with her mother's early death and her sister's descent into madness and obsession with the Dark Lord.

"You look absolutely lovely," Cissa said, pulling on a happier smile."You'd best be off to see your parents, you wouldn't want them to worry."

Hermione thanked her again, throwing her arms around her shoulders and very nearly ruining her hair, before running back through the manor to the floo entrance.

Cissa was left smiling at Hermione's back, glad she still had a week before the Manor would be empty once more with Hermione and Draco staying with the Grangers, then going back to Hogwarts.

Hermione landed in her own living room to find her parents were still away, and she breathed out in relief. After heading back to her room to tidy up the mess and put on her shoes, a strappy pair of sandals that felt awkward on her feet, but mercifully fit, she heard them walk in.

When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she smiled. Her curls fell prettily around her face, framing it and drawing attention away from the speckling of pimples across her jaw and forehead. The makeup around her eyes highlighted her best feature, and the dress fit perfectly. She didn't even feel self conscious walking back down the stairs to show her parents.

"You look beautiful," her mother said, appraising her. Hermione smiled back, for once not thinking it was too much of a stretch.

Whatever lectures she'd been given on appearances being unimportant, whatever she worked to convince herself of every day, it was nice to feel beautiful. She was worried that her mother might be suspicious of her succeeding the hairstyle and makeup on her own, but whether because she was in denial or because she imagined her daughter capable of it, it wasn't mentioned.

Due to the wrapping paper delay, the apparent cause of the earlier argument, they arrived with the last wave of guests trickling into the reception room. When she stepped in, Hermione was hit with an overwhelming amount of disappointment at the venue. Muggles were good at many things, innovation, problem solving, but wizards certainly had the upper hand with decorations.

After sitting down at one of the many round tables set up around the room between her parents, she cast a look around hoping to spot her enemies- Jenna and her gang. They were two tables over, and giggling like the petty airheads that they were. Her thoughts turned back fairly quickly to the conversation at her own table. She was content to ignore them for the night, so long as they returned the favour. It was, after all, only four hours.

Throughout the evening, she listened to her uncle give a surprisingly touching speech about his mother, and her father make a toast to her seventy fifth birthday. She enjoyed the food, and the people at her table were far from the ghastly family members she'd envisioned having to make small talk with. Overall, she was exceedingly pleased with her night.

Things were going almost too smoothly. After dinner, when the guests began to mingle, she went and offered birthday wishes to her Grandmother. She seemed entirely unaware that there was any ill feeling between her grandchildren, no matter how poorly the animosity was concealed. At her insistence, Hermione walked towards her childhood bullies, a smile plastered across her face.

"Freak." Jenna acknowledged quietly, far too casually for Hermione's taste. The malice gleaming in her eyes never meant anything good.

"Jenna, would you just bloody leave her alone for one evening? Grow up." another cousin, Tracy, cut in tiredly.

Jenna went red-faced at being told off, glaring daggers at Hermione as though the loss of one mindless member of her party was her fault, while Hermione was completely lost for words.

She gave her best impression of a deer in headlights, or a child caught stealing a cookie. Her first instinct after hearing words leave Tracy's mouth had been to sneer, glare, and say something defensive. It wasn't until a few moments of silence that the actual content of what she'd said registered and she was glad she hadn't done any of the three.

It was difficult to tell which girl was more uncomfortable, or which was more shocked. For Jenna, it was a betrayal. Her lifelong friend and ally had just chosen to make her look like a fool. And for what? Their little bushy haired freak of a cousin.

Hermione had spent her entire life comfortable in the knowledge that her cousins were evil little minions of Jenna, without a thought or mind of their own. It was disconcerting to find them as anything else.

After stumbling over her words, trying multiple times to say anything, she finally muttered a quick 'thank you', avoiding eye contact at best she could.

Rage bubbled up inside her, directed even more towards Tracy than Jenna. She wondered where the girl's voice was every other time she'd needed it, and she knew it had been joined in with all the others, snickering at whatever cruel joke they'd made at her expense. She didn't deserve to feel good about herself for growing the nerve to stand up for her one time out of a thousand.

Unable to stand being around the group a moment longer, particularly after the offputting change of dynamics, she started to walk away.

The tense year at Hogwarts combined with quidditch had done wonders for Hermione's awareness of her surroundings. She saw Jenna move towards her from the corner of her eye, and sidestepped to avoid her hand jetting out.

"Listen here, you filthy little bitch: you will pay-" Hermione wasn't entirely sure where her cousin was going with the discourse, though she had an idea that the girl wasn't too thrilled Tracy had spoken up. Maybe even under the impression that Hermione had been done a favour.

Hermione gave her a look that threatened to kill, then let out a slight snicker while tilting her glass ever so slightly, pouring the contents down the front of Jenna's dress. It wasn't a white dress, that would have made the entire situation entirely too perfect, but pastel blue was just about good enough.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in the best shocked expression a twelve-going-on-thirteen year old could fake. A few nearby adults, including their parents scurried over to them quickly trying to fix the mess.

"She did it on purpose!" Jenna shrieked in outrage.

"I would never!" Hermione said, looking horrified at the very idea. The words were pouring out of her mouth as naturally as the truth might have in different circumstances. To her intense relief, the adults seemed to buy it. Her cousins never would, but it wasn't them she needed to convince.

Spilling a drink was hardly the epitome of clever; it lacked refinement. With what she had to work with, Hermione thought the hit to her pride, being labelled a clutz, was a small price to pay in order to ruin Jenna's evening. She didn't care what foul garbage had been about to come out of the vapid girl's mouth. She'd promised to make them pay at Christmas, and threats were worthless if not followed through. Where she was denied the opportunity for magical retribution by the ministry, muggle means would have to do.

Much later that evening, after she was back in the safety of her own house curled up in her fluffiest pyjamas and reading a book, an owl pecked at her window. Reluctantly, she untangled herself from the covers and walked over to let him in, surprised that the animal hadn't simply entered through the kitchen like he usually did.

Shock wasn't a word that could begin to describe what she felt when she saw the battered old feather-duster that the Weasleys called an owl half dead on the other side of the glass. Quickly, she helped him in and brought food and water. She stared at him, wondering if there was anything more she could do. The creature was far too old to be making the trip it just had, which was trying on an owl in it's prime. Poor or not, continuing to use this particular bird was almost certainly a form of animal cruelty.

Pity for Errol tugging at her heart, she took the letter from him and scratched his feathers as softly as she could. He let out a soft cooing noise, clearly enjoying the peaceful attention that he was never afforded at home. She sat with him for over a half hour, talking reassuringly and petting him until he appeared relatively recovered. He seemed to understand her, and responded gratefully when she instructed him to spend the night in her room.

Though she knew the rest of the Weasleys even less than Ron, it still surprised her when she found the letter was from him. His note detailed the plan to rescue Harry Potter. She raised her eyebrows at his outline, not sure what could possibly be so bad that Harry needed to be kidnapped from his aunt and uncle's home. At least, until she recalled her own aunt and uncle.

Dear Ron, and Harry, if you're there,

I hope everything went alright, and that Harry is okay and that you didn't do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I've been really worried and if Harry is alright, will you please let me know at once? Perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl because I think another delivery might finish your current one off.

I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course. We're going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diagon Alley?

Let me know what's happening as soon as you can.

Love from Hermione.

The last line was added somewhat ironically, or at least more for Harry's sake than Ron's.

Briefly, she wondered if she might understand Lucius's pastime of hating Weasley Sr- it certainly did take her mind off of other unpleasant things. Rather than brooding on the earlier nastiness with her family, she went to sleep wondering what temporary insanity led her to sign up for voluntary Ronald Weasley time.


	15. Summer 1--A Certain Type of Loyalty

On Tuesday, Lucius was home from the ministry and his business dealings. Hermione was very eager to ask the questions surrounding the blood wards which she'd been dying to since first visiting the Manor. It seemed as though every time she'd seen him, other affairs, concerns, or topics had been more pressing and the questions were put off until later.

He was quite pleased that she'd asked, the evidence being that her and Draco were carted off, immediately, to the library to begin lessons. She hadn't anticipated the extensive background information she needed before the topic could even begin to be addressed in any meaningful way.

While Hermione held on to his every word, carefully storing each one for later consideration, Draco balled up little pieces of parchment and flicked them one at the time towards the spine of a transfigurations book, the target he'd chosen, some distance away.

Even his eagerness to keep up with his friend couldn't force him to listen to the introduction on the history and theory of wards. Of all the frankly pointless subjects his father enjoyed, this one was possibly the dullest. He could get behind potions, dark arts, or more politically correct, defense against the dark arts, even runes...but he drew the line at wards.

They were taking a break, to Draco's relief, and eating snacks brought to them by elves when she informed Lucius that she would be meeting the Weasleys in Diagon Alley on Wednesday. The horror that crossed his face was, in itself, worth whatever nerve grating time she would be spending with the family, for Harry's sake, the next day.

He wasn't a man one typically laughed at, but she couldn't help herself. Seeing the bitter disgust at the very mention of Arthur sent her into a fit of giggles. When the flash of indignation and anger crossed his face, she tried to quickly bite back the laughter.

She already knew he was a man who inspired a certain amount of fear from most of those around him, but never until that moment was she one of those people. The idea that he might curse her crossed her mind briefly, but, before it could become a fully formed thought, his face softened and the corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile. He shook his head in resignation, but continued to smile ever so slightly, giving her permission to laugh away.

She let out another chuckle, but more than anything her heart swelled with appreciation and affection. Lucius was a difficult man to read, and until that moment, she'd never quite known where she stood in his estimation.

There were very few people she imagined he allowed to laugh at him, even his niece appeared somewhat guarded in his presence. Despite this, somehow, he'd allowed her to do so. It was a small act of acceptance, but more meaningful to her than any grand gesture would have been. A grand gesture would have been political, this decidedly wasn't motivated by anything other than trust and friendship.

"Can I go fly?" Draco asked petulantly when the discussion returned to the earlier topic.

Lucius glared at his son, though more due to disappointment that he wasn't interested than any actual anger. Reluctantly, he nodded while vanishing the mess of little parchment balls.

Seeing his father's hurt when Draco left, Hermione decided to push her luck still further. "He idolizes you, you know." she said, in one of her snootiest voices-the very same as when she explained a remarkably simple concept to one of her less than brilliant peers, "He wants to be just like you when he grows up."

Lucius didn't respond, but she watched his shoulders stiffen. He turned away a moment, swallowing hard.

As he picked up where they'd left off with the theory of warding, there was some kind of emotion in his voice, though it was difficult to pinpoint what exactly it was. After he cleared his throat, and continued as though nothing had been said, she wondered if she'd heard it at all.

* * *

She didn't expect to like, or even tolerate any of the Weasleys by this point in time. While she had no particular grudge towards the twins, the other two she was acquainted with were far from her favourite people.

It would be a lie to say that the constant venom towards the family spewed by Lucius, and to a lesser degree, Draco, hadn't affected her disposition towards the redheaded clan. Ronald had earned her dislike all on his own, but the other ones had done little to offend except completely disregard her.

She didn't pause to consider this, Lucius's enemies were becoming, by extension, her enemies.

As the minutes ticked by on Wednesday, Hermione was caught between the anticipation of seeing Harry again, and the dread of seeing his companions. While Draco often complained of the two boys, awarding them every degrading nickname imaginable, he felt a bizarre surge of jealousy as a result of the attention Hermione was redirecting towards her other school friends.

She'd let him score six goals in a row without so much as batting an eyelash, and had hardly pestered him about his lack of interest in what his father was trying to teach them about wards. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to appreciate her 'it's essential knowledge' speeches until then. He figured that this time, it would probably even motivate him to pay attention when his father tried to teach them again.

"What's wrong with you?" he spat out after she barely even replied to his taunts.

She looked at him for a moment, surprised by the venom behind the words.

"What's wrong with me?" she replied, her eyes narrowing dangerously. She waited a moment, as though giving him a chance to retract the statement.

"Stupid Potter, famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead… everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with stupid his scar — and now it sounds like you're in love with him too."

"I haven't seen Harry all summer!" Hermione yelled back, shocked by the absurdity. "He's my friend! What's wrong with you?"

She watched him deflate, his shoulders slumping. "Nothing. Go have fun with bloody Potter and the packs of weasels."

She watched him carefully, observing him the way one might observe a broken piece of machinery: somewhat detached and calculating. This wasn't like him at all, or maybe it was...but it certainly wasn't something that she'd seen before. Finally, after a few long minutes of silence she nodded with about as much understanding as it was possible to garner from the situation.

"You're being stupid." she diagnosed, her tone knowing and something akin to pity crossing her eyes.

He glared at her, still clearly angry for reasons he didn't even begin to understand. She reached out and patted his cheek, causing him to flinch back.

"I'm not being stupid!" he snapped. His broomstick was thrown haphazardly off to the side of the house, and he tried to storm away.

"Awwwe, is Draco jealous?" Hermione taunted, following him into the manor, running to step in front of him. He pushed around her.

"Why would I…" whatever spiteful comment Draco would have made, and likely regretted, was cut off when they arrived to the drawing room.

Lucius was standing face to face with what looked like several ministry officials, gripping the head of his cane dangerously. It was almost comical to see their wavering between an attempt to project authority, and cowering in front of the Malfoys' glares, afraid of how they might use their influence to retaliate. The children stopped dead in their tracks, looking between the two trusted adults for guidance on how to behave.

"Go clean up and change." Narcissa ordered, not taking her glare away from the officials for a moment. Without waiting to be told a second time, Draco and Hermione spun on their heels and headed back through the door.

Halfway down the hallway leading out of that particular wing, Draco came to an abrupt halt and peered back around Hermione, checking that they were alone. He stepped forward and muttered a word to a painting, which, on command swung open to reveal a set of stairs heading down into darkness.

"Lumos," Draco cast, tugging at Hermione's arm with his other hand.

"Draco, your mum said-" Hermione shifted uncomfortably, looking back out at the hallway.

"I want to know what's happening." he whinned.

"But…"

"Come on, Hermione." While it was to dark to see, she knew from his tone that he rolled his eyes.

Nervously biting her lip, she finally took a step forward following him down the stairs. She jumped when the portrait shut the rest of the way, locking once again with a faint click. She pulled out her own wand, casting her own lumos. She almost regretted it when she started to notice the things which she'd exposed in the light. They found themselves in a room, surrounded by various objects. They were as terrifying as an engraved human skull, to as innocuous as what appeared to be an old leather bound diary.

Hermione moved two steps closer to Draco, almost tripping over something she didn't dare look down at. Together, the pair moved carefully until Draco climbed up onto a table, followed by a reluctant Hermione. She continued to follow his lead when he stood on his toes to press his ear to the ceiling. She'd come too far not to satisfy her curiosity.

The voices were barely discernible, and only with careful concentration were they able to make out a word out of three from what the ministry officials said.

Investigation. Search. Dark Artefacts. Imperius. Death Eater.

It was plain as day, from any and all of those words, that the conversation was not taking a friendly turn.

When the ministry officials left, Draco scrambled down from the table, urging Hermione to hurry as well. There wasn't much time before Lucius and Narcissa would come looking for them.

They ran back through the room as quickly as they dared, back up the stairs, then through the portrait door. The pair sprinted down the halls until arriving to Draco's room. Exhausted, they both collapsed onto the bed.

"What was that about?" Hissed Hermione, still working to catch her breath.

"Bloody Weasley is what it's about."

Before they could discuss the situation and what they'd heard any further, Narcissa and Lucius' voices carried through the hallway, approaching Draco's room. Grabbing the bag with her clothes, Hermione rushed off into the bathroom, changing out of her quidditch gear in record time.

Both children were thankful for the warning the hallway's echoes gave them, because a minute later, when Cissa and Lucius arrived at the door, they were found sitting across from each other both scowling over a game of exploding snaps.

They didn't have the opportunity to discuss what they'd overheard before she needed to leave, but with neither even half tempted to resurrect it, the earlier argument was completely forgotten.

Hermione met her parents at home for supper. It was a rushed affair, grilled cheese sandwiches and some salad, due to how pressed for time they were. With Jean's refusal to step into the floo network, the result would be a painfully long drive to the entrance to Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione was practically bouncing in anticipation of seeing Harry.

"We need to go to the bank." Richard said, though the word 'bank' hardly came out naturally as he looked up the marble stairs to the entrance of Gringotts.

The family turned to walk up the stairs, the young girl at this time completely oblivious to her parents' intense discomfort. Jean, for her part, took in deep breaths, barely willing her knees to keep from knocking. Richard's lips were a thin line, and his fist was clenched tightly to his side, his knuckles white.

Hermione was somewhat skeptical of the idea that Goblins deserved to have their rights to carrying wands removed, amongst other things. Classified by the ministry as creatures of near wizard intelligence, they were barely even awarded rights in the wizarding legal system. If a wizard murdered a goblin, then the repercussions were little more than a fine and a slap on the wrist, if however, it were to be the other way around, the goblin would be executed. That's not to say that they didn't find their own methods of retribution outside the law.

Though Lucius and Narcissa, as well as most books she read insisted, quite forcefully, that these laws and restrictions were necessary for a peaceful, orderly world, her parents' and grandmother's voices sounded claiming that no one was superior, nor inferior to anyone else. It seemed horribly unjust, and she could certainly empathise.

This skepticism was strongest when far away from their presence. She might have assumed that the goblins would understand what it was like to have a group oppressing another, and that as a mudblood they might have some sympathy for her own plight. As it turned out, things did not work that way. Muggle-borns were treated with fervent resentment just the same as any other wand-carrier. Worse, actually, it seemed.

When they walked into the bank, the goblins they encountered were just as rude as ever. Their rough, low voice dripped with disdain and barely concealed hatred. The way their eyes flicked jealously over to Hermione's wand, eyeing her as though her life was nothing but a hindrance between them and the magical object in her hand was only mildly less off putting than the way they sneered at the inferiority of her parents. In a rather hypocritical gesture, muggle's lack of power doubled the disgust the creatures felt towards them. Above and beyond the standard resentment for being human there was the lack of respect towards them because they didn't have magic.

After a particularly unpleasant, arduous experience, they three finally left the bank as thoroughly traumatized or more as they had been in the past.

"Harry! Harry! Over here!" Hermione shouted, catching a glimpse of her friend in the distance.

She raced down the stairs to engulf him in a hug, alarmed when she felt his thin frame. The bones in his shoulders and arms stuck out in a way that certainly wasn't usual, even for a gangly, growing boy of twelve. She couldn't help the frown that crossed her features as she took in his appearance. His clothes were sizes too big, barely held up by a belt which could have wrapped around his waist at least twice.

"What happened to your glasses?" she asked, staring at the cracked glass and bent frames. She was horrified that she'd practically dismissed what he'd gone through only days before. Someone should have noticed things were wrong. Someone should have rescued him sooner.

Before he could answer, or she could ask anymore questions, they both found themselves enveloped by Hagrid's shadow, and she was enthusiastically greeted by the massive man. "Hello, Hagrid" she replied, grinning towards the gamekeeper, " — Oh, it's wonderful to see you two again —"

Despite her concerns towards Harry's health, she couldn't help but grin broadly at both her friends. She hadn't even realized she missed Hagrid's cheerful, gruff manner until that moment, but she vowed to herself that she would remember to write to him next summer.

A loud scuffling of footsteps, bags, and voices alerted them of a large group heading rapidly in their direction. When Hermione and Harry looked around, it didn't take long to spot the scruffy group of redheads practically sprinting towards them.

Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and a man she could only assume was Mr Weasley came rushing up to the pair of them. Hermione's parents weren't far in the opposite direction, hanging back ever so slightly to give their daughter a chance to catch up with her friends.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley panted, completely oblivious to Hermione's presence next to the raven haired boy. "We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far…" He mopped his

glistening bald patch. "Molly's frantic — she's coming now —"

Molly...the name sounded familiar. It took a moment before she recalled that she knew her to be Mother Weasley.

While the Weasleys continued to fawn over Harry, completely ignoring her, she looked around and spotted two more heads of flaming hair bobbing in the most undignified way as the larger dragged along the smaller, just barely managing to cling to her hand. Mrs Weasley's handbag swung wildly through the air.

She hazarded a glance towards her parents, who she couldn't help but think might suddenly have a much more favourable opinion of the Malfoys, at least comparatively. She could see her mother and father's horror at the Weasley family's behaviour. The fact that they'd nearly lost a young boy in the floo network, a method of transportation they both still had nightmares over, seemed to damn them still further.

After the initial huff of excitement surrounding Harry's near disappearance, Hermione, Ron, and Harry greeted each other properly. Then, without everyone fussing over him, it finally became possible for Harry to talk.

"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione, some while after pleasantries and talk of summer was over. "Malfoy and his father." Hermione opened her mouth to ask what exactly Borgin and Burke's was supposed to mean to her. While the name Burke tugged at her memory, she was certain she'd never heard of the shop.

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" said Mr. Weasley sharply behind them, interrupting her chain of thought. She refrained from rolling her eyes at him, very entertained that Lucius's vendetta against the man was apparently entirely reciprocated. Amusement aside, she wondered if his interest had anything with what she'd overheard earlier. Draco had mentioned it was somehow related to Weasley...

"No, he was selling —"

"So he's worried," said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. "Oh, I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something…"

"You be careful, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That family's trouble. Don't go biting off more than you can chew —"

Hermione had to agree with the Weasley woman. Going after Lucius Malfoy as Arthur Weasley did not seem like a particularly good choice. While she rooted for the underdog in books, in real life there was sometimes a less...redeemable...reason that a person wasn't expected to win.

"So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr. Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing, a little awkwardly, a few feet away.

"But you're Muggles!" said Mr. Weasley, sounding like a child who spotted their favourite animal in a zoo. "We must have a drink! What's that you've got there? Oh, you were changing Muggle money. Molly, look!" He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Richard's hand, which he'd been putting away in his wallet.

Molly smiled indulgently at her husband as he whisked the note from Richard's hand, holding it up in the light for further examination as though it was a rare relic, rather than something used on a daily basis by many millions of people. Frankly, Hermione was unimpressed.

Without even pausing to introduce himself, or to wait for an introduction on their part, he began bombarding them with question after question. Hermione was torn between amusement and annoyance once again. Part of her wanted to find his behaviour oddly endearing, but another much louder part screamed out in indignation.

Her parents were people. Didn't they deserve any respect? The audacity of Mr Weasley, who was practically dragging them away to the Leaky Cauldron while they looked around for an escape, wasn't lost on her.

"Come on...let's go look for our stuff. Dad's obsessed with Muggles...they'll be a while."

"I think my parents wanted to come shopping with me." Hermione snapped at Ronald, annoyed at his assumption that because his father wanted to interrogate her parents, they would happily go along with it. Like they should obviously be willing to drop everything to humour a wizard they neither knew nor, necessarily, cared to know.

She had a difficult time picturing her mother staying pleasant very long, especially considering she'd heard him ask them about 'escapators' before they were out of earshot. Really, it was a wonder he'd even landed a job at the ministry, considering the fact that he obviously couldn't read. Why else would he be wasting her parents' time asking patronizing questions that could be answered by any respectable, modern muggle studies textbook? Or more shocking still, a muggle dictionary.

"Come now, we'll start with Madam Malkin's." Mrs Weasley said, placing a hand on Hermione and Harry's shoulder with the intention of guiding them in the correct direction. Involuntarily, Hermione flinched away at the contact. As kind as Mrs Weasley's tone might be, the woman was still very much a stranger. She wanted to find her parents.

It was Harry's turn to tug at her sleeve, looking at her questioningly when she hadn't made a move to follow them. Letting out a sigh, she stepped forward. Her family was already out of sight, and she didn't fancy wandering through the alley on her own. Besides, she was certain not only that her parents were more than capable of letting Weasley know just what they thought of his questions, but that her father would fill her in on whatever scathing set down her mother delivered.

A short walk down the alley later, she noticed the little girl trailing behind them hadn't said a word. She was absolutely minuscule, and Hermione couldn't stop staring. Ronald mentioned he had a younger sister, Ginny, who would be coming to Hogwarts this year, but surely this couldn't be her? She looked at the girl curiously, before finally making up her mind.

"I'm Hermione. And you are...?" she raised an eyebrow as she waited for a reply.

"Ginny." the girl said, perking up slightly at being addressed.

"Pleasure." Hermione replied, with significantly less disgust than when she'd addressed the same word to Ronald little under a year earlier.

They walked together, falling out of step with the boys. Ron was busy discussing quidditch at Harry, and Hermione was resolute to stay out of it even if the few words that made their way back to her caused her to grind her teeth.

"Are you...are you going to Hogwarts this year?" Hermione asked, feeling it had suddenly become her duty to babysit the youngest Weasley child. Not that she minded, particularly when the girl's reaction seemed comically enthusiastic.

"Yes! Fred and George have been telling me all kind of stories...is it true that there's ghosts and that the staircases move?" she asked, clearly desperate for any scrap of information pertaining to her future school.

Hermione liked imparting information on people, particularly when it was a subject she knew a lot about. Hogwarts, after attending for a year, reading and rereading Hogwarts: A History, was a subject she knew a lot about. Hermione was eager to talk, and was Ginny eager to listen. By the time the girls arrived at Flourish and Blotts an hour later, after touring the alley, they were well on their way to being friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter before Hermione goes back to Hogwarts! I've really liked writing the summer chapters, so I hope you've enjoyed reading them :)
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading, reviewing etc. It makes me smile and is a huge encouragement to keep writing!
> 
> I struggled a bit with the goblins, and hope to revisit them eventually. As a species, they resent witches and wizards...but I don't think I did justice to the individual range of opinions that they might have. I hate to stereotype a group when so much of my story revolves around the stupidity of doing exactly that.
> 
> Arthur Weasley was another point I struggled with. Honestly, I don't want to blindly Weasley-bash. They all have some amazing qualities, and Mr and Mrs Weasley are fabulous parental figures to Harry. Just not to Hermione. Mrs Weasley even believes the stuff that was written about her in fourth year by Rita Skeeter...she isn't part of the family the way Harry is.
> 
> I hate the idea that Arthur's weird obsession with muggles, and lack of education about them is charming. Presumably he took seven years of muggle studies in school, and then has had ample opportunity at the ministry to learn more. Something must have stuck with him...being unable to even properly pronounce electricity is outright incompetence. I don't think I quite got the emotions right for Hermione and her parents either, so I apologize for that!
> 
> Regardless, hope you enjoyed!


	16. Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Anyone who might still be reading this...I'm so, so sorry it's taken me so long to update. I'll post chapter 17 tomorrow, and try and get 18 up over the next. 
> 
> I think I made a bit of a mess of this, but, nonetheless, I hope you enjoy :)

There was a surprisingly large crowd jostling outside the door. It seemed strange, because while it was, by far, Hermione’s favourite shop, she recognized there weren’t quite that many people who shared her passion for books. The reason became obvious when she saw a large banner stretching across the upper windows.

GILDEROY LOCKHART  
will be signing copies of his autobiography  
MAGICAL ME  
today 4:00P.M. to 8:00P.M. 

“Oh! This is fantastic! We can actually meet him! Have you read his books?” Hermione proclaimed, eager to share her excitement with her friends. Looking between Harry, Ronald, and Ginny, she was met with three blank stares. She scoffed. He was one of the most respected authors of the magical world. He’d published a dozen of counts of his various run in’s with magical creatures and the dark arts, all best sellers. 

It seemed her friends hadn’t even heard of him. Well, they hadn’t heard of him beyond Mrs Weasley’s swooning. It was the least of his accomplishments, though Hermione certainly wouldn’t contest the fact that he had a very charming smile. Shaking her head, she lead their way to where Mrs. Weasley was attempting to get ahead of the crowd.

When the lot of them finally made it into the shop, Hermione caught sight of her parents standing a short distance off from Mr Weasley near the back of the shop, her mother digging her fingers into her father’s arm. Their eyes scanned the crowd at regular intervals, and their body language screamed flight, but they stood, resolutely, waiting for their daughter. 

When Jean finally caught Hermione’s eye, relief flashed across her face and she stepped towards her, closely followed by Richard. Hermione rushed to meet them halfway. Finally, with the Grangers out of earshot, Arthur could no longer subject them to his tirade of insulting compliments, and foul congratulations for somehow managing to be quite as clever as they were, considering the burden of their deficiency.

“I don’t think we’ll be inviting him for lunch anytime soon.” Jean muttered to her daughter. Although she was obviously insulted by some of the comments, the corners of her lips quirked in amusement. Hermione hummed in agreement, at least the man meant well.

Arthur started making his way back to them, but, fortunately for all involved, was delayed by an eruption of cheers coming from the crowd around Lockhart. Hermione spun, craning her neck just in time to spot Harry being led up towards the dais by the man himself, the photographer for the daily prophet snapping a constant stream of pictures.

She tried not to be green with envy as Lockhart, apparently their future professor, presented Harry with the complete collection of his works. Harry clearly didn’t seem to understand how lucky he was to be the first to meet with him. She was so excited at the prospect of having a competent defence against the dark arts professor. She’d certainly learned far more on her own through books, the misfortune of experience, and from Cissa during the summer than she had from Quirrell. 

It was an important subject, and a well respected position. Surely there were plenty of candidates to choose from. It should have been obvious to the wizard who was heralded as one of the greatest to have ever lived that Quirrell was incompetent, though all things considered she’d had some worse teachers at her muggle school before Hogwarts. It didn’t matter anymore. He’d more than made up for his mistake this time around. 

Once the excitement started to die, Hermione spotted Ron. Only after receiving a smile from her mum and dad, assuring her that they could endure another few minutes of the older Weasley, did she join him on his quest to find their other friend.

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” Draco’s familiar drawl floated through the crowd.

Her stack of Lockhart’s books, those she hadn’t previously owned, nearly toppled over as someone shoved past her. She glared in their direction, muttering angrily, and deeply regretted not leaving the heavy tomes with her parents. 

When the two of them managed to join up with Harry and Ginny, Hermione could see the younger girl’s face as red as her hair. A surge of indignation shot through her, causing her eyes to narrow at Draco for the second time that day. She felt oddly protective towards the younger girl, and was about to snap at Draco for embarrassing her.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron. He looked at Draco, some measure of disgust and exasperation. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?” Hermione paused, wondering if he was actually going anywhere with that line of thought.

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley.” he retorted, “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”

Ronald had walked right into that one, there was no question. Unlike in the past, there was absolutely no temptation to laugh at the comment. It was a low blow, and purposely escalated the interaction. She knew he was jealous of Harry for a load of reasons she didn’t understand, but she hated that he couldn’t have backed off, even just today, for her sake. Harry had a rotten summer as it was, and tormenting Ron about his family was hardly called for. 

If it had been anyone but Draco making the comment, she would have spoke up. However, in this case, she didn’t say a word; dwelling on the cruelty of her friend wasn’t particularly appealing. She hated the spiteful streak that manifested itself around her Gryffindor friends.

In a sharp contrast to his reaction to the Ginny comment, Ron dropped his books into Ginny’s new cauldron and made an attempt to lunge at Draco. With Harry’s help, they restrained their furious friend. He fought them for a few moments, before giving up and simply glaring at everyone around him with every ounce of the hatred and jealousy he felt towards Draco.

“Ron!” Arthur cried out, making his way over with the twins, who’d apparently finally found their way back to the bookshop, their pockets seeming suspiciously bloated. “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.” Her parents, who’d followed closely behind, looked quite eager to comply with this suggestion, mollifying their attitude towards him ever so slightly.

“Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley.” Lucius drawled, approaching from the opposite direction. It was the very same drawl as Draco’s, though she assumed Lucius’s had come first. He stood with his hand on his son’s shoulder, sneering identically.

“Lucius,” Arthur acknowledged, though it appeared to pain him to do so.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Lucius, looking far too pleased with himself, even behind the sneer. “All those raids . . . I hope they’re paying you overtime?” 

He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. “Obviously not,” he sighed. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?” Draco sniggered at his father’s comment.

The shade of red that coloured Arthur’s face put Ronald and Ginny’s to shame. This particular combination of anger, frustration, and humiliation clearly did not suit him. “We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he spat back. 

“Clearly,” Lucius’s eyes drifted to the Grangers. He raised an eyebrow in their direction, having seen their haste to escape the man moments before. They nodded politely, though a little coldly, a gesture he returned.

“and I thought your family could sink no lower —” he added under his breath.

It would have been nice to say that his disdain for Arthur’s behaviour directed towards the Grangers was born from a tenuous friendship, or a modicum of respect for the muggles. Unfortunately, if any of those sentiments existed, they were buried deep. He tolerated the Grangers first because it suited him to, then because they were Draco’s friend’s parents, and finally, though it had been gaining some importance recently, out of respect for Hermione herself. 

To witness a wizard, even one as pathetic as Arthur Weasley, degrading himself in the manner he had was revolting. Lucius hated stupidity, and he hated incompetence. Witnessing the Grangers, both of whom were at least capable of behaving civilly, juxtaposed with Weasley made him angry, because it undermined the last shreds of wizarding supremacy he held onto. In the privacy of his own home he might have acknowledged mudbloods as a potential asset to the wizarding world, and even, he supposed, eventually, to his family. Extending this same courtesy to muggles though, was far more than he was willing to push himself, or rather, be pushed.

Growing up, there were only ever two witches, only two people, whose opinions he valued as highly as his own, and those were Andromeda and Narcissa Black. He’d met Andromeda for the first time when they were eleven, and had just boarded the Hogwarts express. She was his superior in blood, fortune, and breeding. While things had changed after her elopement years later, and the conclusion of the war, the Blacks were once the most powerful family in the wizarding world, only rivalled by the Rosiers. Naturally, he wished to sit with her. Decades later, he could still picture the way she turned up her nose at him.

“Mother says I’m not to mingle with the lower class.” she’d sneered, her voice dripping with the same snobby attitude he’d so often used himself. Turning on her heels, she snapped the door in his face. He’d been left dumbstruck, and more than a little angry.

They made it their mission to sabotage each other for the first three years at school, trying to get the upper hand in everything from classes, to quidditch, to friends. It was a gradual change from hatred to something that wasn’t. Admiration, attraction, mutual interests, and, eventually, love. She loved him wholeheartedly, he knew it, though it was never quite the same love he harbored for her. 

He watched her derisive sneers towards her peers soften when she thought no one was looking. He watched when she secretly fixed the oldest Shacklebolt's potion, even though he was a Gryffindor, knowing he needed it to pass. 

In retrospect, things turned out well, but at the time, he was focused solely on convincing her to love him. In his arrogance, he was sure he could, then, that if he played his cards right, her family would consent to a marriage. Becoming a Death Eater, garnering favour with the Dark Lord, it was all for her. That was before she shocked him with her elopement to a muggle-born.

He’d often mocked Severus in recent years for his ongoing, disturbing obsession with the mudblood Potter. The truth was, without Narcissa, he might have had the same level of obsession with Andromeda. Instead, though he fought it every step of the way, his devotion shifted. He would always love Andromeda, but finally in the way she wanted.

For a couple years after they’d reconnected, he was convinced tolerating her husband was enough. He was civil, though no more than one might expect. When Andy discovered his ties to Voldemort, ironically it was only because of her husband that he left alive.

It was the times when he returned to the manor, covered in blood, and saw the revulsion in his wife’s eyes that some of Andromeda’s parting words were the loudest. Sleepless nights hating himself for the acts he performed, days witnessing atrocities he never would have imagined, seeing the conviction in many of his fellow death eaters that what they were doing was right caused him to doubt, and Andy Black caused him to dwell on that doubt. 

After Draco’s birth, Narcissa was the first to reach out to her sister, determined to make things right for good. It took months of her paving the way, even after the war had ended, before Andy let Lucius within her sight, and even then, there was still some resentment if he looked for it deep enough. 

Regardless what exactly the reason, very few people bothered him more than Arthur Weasley. Perhaps because the wizard, for all his incompetence, had been right about something Lucius hadn’t. He’d been right about muggle-borns. 

Without much of a warning, beyond the pulsing vein in Arthur’s forehead, there was a loud thud and Ginny’s cauldron was shoved aside. Mr Weasley launched himself at Lucius, knocking him into a nearby bookshelf. Dozens of heavy books rained down on them, and Hermione winced as the corner of one hit her head. It narrowly missed her eye. In pain, and somewhat disoriented, she raised a hand to her head vaguely aware of the yelling and shrieking around them. 

Blood covered her hand as she tried to put pressure on the wound. It wasn’t a terribly deep cut, but it was unfortunately placed. Her parents couldn’t see her past the wizards who’d shoved them aside to watch the fight, or they would have dragged her out of there and straight to a hospital without a moment’s delay.

Hagrid managed to wade through the sea of books, effortlessly pulling the two men apart. Hermione had little sympathy for Arthur’s injuries, though she could understand why he’d attacked Lucius. The other man’s eye looked like it was already beginning to swell, and for him she held a lot more sympathy. While he’d been acting like a bully, he hadn’t actually resorted to violence. He still held on to Ginny’s Transfiguration book, but rather than hand it back to the girl he scowled and tossed it back into the pile of fallen books, uncaring what became of it. 

His eyes found his son, then Hermione. The first had been safely out of the way of the falling books and looked equal parts terrified and disturbed by the scene he’d witnessed, while the later was still clutching her cut. He scowled at Arthur, who still appeared too flustered with the argument to notice his charge was injured. They could see the back of a woman employee, fussing over the youngest Weasley child, along with her brothers, helping her retrieve her cauldron and books. Hagrid admonished Arthur for his behaviour.

“Take you hand off of it,” Lucius said after crossing the short distance to her side, pulling her blood covered hand away when she didn’t and exposing the cut. “It’ll sting a bit.” he warned, casting a healing spell on it to stitch back the skin together. “Does anything else hurt?”

“My head still aches,” she admitted, looking at her feet.

He accio-ed a potion out of his coin purse, surprising her slightly when she realized the vial was larger than the bag itself. He waited for her to drink it before taking the empty bottle back from her. 

In the midst of the chaos surrounding them, it was hardly even noted by anyone other than the Grangers that he’d helped her. The two muggles had, by now, pushed their way through the crowd and began fussing over their daughter on either side of Lucius. Hermione smiled at them, and assured them that she was alright. Vaguely, they could hear Lockhart asking if the reporters had gotten a picture. 

The little family walked back out, followed by Lucius and Draco. In a foul mood from the kerfuffle, and Draco’s behaviour, she didn’t even spare him a second glance as he followed his father in the opposite direction. She tried to pretend everything was alright, but the knot at the pit of her stomach twisting in anger wouldn’t disappear. Merlin, the more she thought about Draco, the more she wanted to throttle him. It was his fault Lucius and Arthur even got involved in the whole mess!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and I'd love to hear from you...so please leave a review :)  
> Thank you to foreverme98, who has been a huge help beta reading!
> 
> Obviously, I own nothing recognizable.


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